


Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Canon Divergent AU, Developing Relationship, Disabled main characters, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: It was while he was unscrewing the strawberry jam that he heard the sound. A soft, rapping sound coming from his front door, like knuckles on wood, or maybe an infected trying to claw their way in. He spent a few moments listening, and, no, it was definitely knocking. He was surprised they hadn’t attempted twisting the handle, but rather continued knocking on his door as though he were naïve enough to let them inside.


  'Little pig, little pig, let me in.'

A different take on the Alice Tetch virus.





	1. Chapter 1

**In order for light to shine so brightly, darkness must be present. - Francis Bacon**

* * *

Edward unclenched his teeth, allowing the nail that had been held between them to fall into his palm. He lifted it to the plank of wood he was securing to his left-most window and gave the end three heavy strikes with his hammer, driving it through the plank and into the window frame. His television drawled on as he worked. The volume was low enough to be heard, but beyond the range of anyone outside his loft. He had to be careful not to make too much sound, least he alert any lingering infected to his presence.

Five days had passed since an infection had taken hold of Gotham, and the local news station remained online despite the chaos razing through the city. They reported what little they were able to glean from phone calls and cameras. They had started out telling people to remain calm, to seek out safety zones. ‘The military will be taking action shortly’ was one of the first things they had reported, and when the military had failed in their efforts to secure Gotham, their announcements had become increasingly bleak in nature.

‘Contact with other stations has been lost.’

‘The military has been overwhelmed; they’re among the hostiles.’

‘Those infected have started consuming the flesh of survivors.’

This evening, two of the three reporters on the station had left to be with their families. The remaining reporters voice tremored as she told what few people were still listeners that Gotham City was no longer salvageable, to flee to the countryside as soon as possible, because the infection had spread through the rest of America like wildfire and nowhere, no matter how technologically or medically advanced, would be safe. ‘Abandon all hope’ would have been a far more succinct way to convey her message, seeing as there was nothing in her voice, nor her words that suggested there was any help coming, but Edward hadn’t been under the impression someone would come swooping in to save them anyway.

If the Government had resources to expend, he knew they wouldn’t send any to Gotham City. They’d already sent a good hundred troops into the city, to test the waters, and lost every single one of them to the overwhelming number of infected. By now, they must have figured out Gotham was beyond help.

He drove one more nail into his flimsy attempt at a barricade and stepped away from the window, examining each of them to make sure every stretch of glass was covered by a plank. It was pretty mediocre job, but it didn’t need to be perfect to dissuade the infected from coming inside. The height of the window would be enough to do that. Throw a curtain over it and nothing would even think of getting in through there.

There weren’t enough nails nor planks left to nail anything to the front door, but he’d shoved so much furniture up against it that he was sure he didn’t need to worry. It wasn’t likely nails would do much against the beasts anyway. A barricade had to be heavy to be effective.

Edward’s one refuge in the chaos had been _planning_. A busy mind enabled him to stave off the urge to panic. With jobs to keep himself busy, he didn’t have to think about the full breadth of what was going on, about the likelihood that he wouldn’t be alive for much longer. It wasn’t so much the dying that scared him; he could cope with the idea of death, but he couldn’t cope with the idea of dying a nameless, faceless figure. No one would remember Edward Nygma and no one would care, and that thought made him want to scream.

With the windows done, he stepped into his dust-covered kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was a good thing his neighbours had gone grocery shopping before fleeing, because the food he’d liberated from their apartment would have to last him. He didn’t want to risk venturing out until the bedlam had subsided, and that wasn’t going to happen until the infected had run out of food. The way things were going, survivors running and helpless, he expected that to take a scant few weeks, and then it would just be a matter of waiting until they had moved on. While the creatures weren’t sentient, their instincts were intact. Much like a wolf subsisting on a pen of pigs, they knew to move on once the pen was empty.

And Edward, as the pig, knew to emerge from his hiding spot only once the predator had made that assumption.

He popped two slices of wholegrain bread into his toaster (not the kind of bread he usually liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers) and started the kettle, retrieving himself cutlery and spreads while he waited for the toaster to pop and the kettle to hiss. As long as he was there to muffle the sounds with quick fingers and a tea cloth, neither would be loud enough to alert any stragglers to his presence.

It was while he was unscrewing the strawberry jam that he heard the sound. A soft, rapping sound coming from his front door, like knuckles on wood, or maybe an infected trying to claw their way in. He spent a few moments listening, and, no, it was definitely knocking. He was surprised they hadn’t attempted twisting the handle, but rather continued knocking on his door as though he were naïve enough to let them inside.

_Little pig, little pig, let me in_.

He crossed his loft on silent feet, retrieving a crowbar from the corner of the room. Best to bludgeon them than shoot them. The less blood you spilled, the safer you were. He curled his hands tight around the end and crept up to the door, taking deep, calming breaths to prepare him for his assault.

A squeal shocked him out of his thoughts. The kettle. He’d forgotten to turn off the kettle. Pushing himself off the wall, he dashed across the room and yanked the plug out of the wall, hands shaking so hard that it took three tries before it dislodged.

“Edward, I can hear you! Open the door!”

“Oswald?”

The spasming of his fingers and thudding of his heart began to slow. Still shaking from the aftermaths of an adrenaline rush, he hurried over to the door and pushed the barricade he’d created aside, eager to let his friend inside. When he finally opened the door, Oswald was hunched over in front of it with his left arm coiled around his waist. He wobbled perceptibly as he peered up at Edward.

“Edward.” The relief in his voice was almost palpable. “You’re alive and well, I see.” He stuttered his way past the threshold, cane smacking the floorboards. Edward pushed his barricade back into place the moment Oswald was safely inside.

“And you aren’t,” he observed, turning to slide an arm around his friends wobbling form and guide him through the loft. Three short, stuttering steps, and Oswald started to fall; Edward heaved him back up by his armpits and pressed him into a chair. Oswald sat in it with all the grace of a rag doll.

Under the light, Edward could better make out the stain on Oswald’s arm. Dark and glutinous in consistency, stretching from Oswald’s wrist to his elbow. The implications of it made Edward feel faintly queasy.

“I tried phoning your mobile, but you didn’t pick up,” he said, voice rapidly losing volume. “I’d thought the worst when I didn’t receive a response on the mansion phone either.”

Edward tore his gaze away from the blood on Oswald’s arm. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Oswald. I believe I left my phone at the GCPD.” And he’d been too far from Oswald’s mansion to safely make the journey there.

It was very fortunate he’d still had a few months left on his lease. His loft was dusty and all the food in his fridge had gone mouldy, save for what little he’d been able to take from surrounding homes, but it was liveable.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Oswald, who offered him a reassuring smile.

Edward stood in his bathroom, curled over his sink, and took several deep breaths before he removed a packet of gloves and a med kit from his medicine cabinet. Some gauze and sutures, that’s what Oswald needed.

He returned to Oswald with medical supplies in hand, as well as a damp hand towel to clean the wound with.

“I was bitten,” murmured Oswald, and Edward’s stomach clenched in horror. He closed his eyes and took another a deep breath. Panicking would get them nowhere.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Oswald gingerly pulled back his sleeve and Edward recoiled, his breath catching in his throat. It was worse than he had been expecting. A jagged tear through flesh and muscle and- was that a hint of white? It was. It was bone, and Edward was suddenly so overwhelmed by the urge to vomit that he had to turn and shove a fist into his mouth.

The distress, he knew, wasn’t born of disgust or alarm, because Edward knew very well what being disgusted or alarmed felt like, and _this_ wasn’t it. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d been holding Miss Kringle’s corpse to his chest.

“It happened a couple of hours ago,” continued Oswald. For someone who knew he was going to die, he was holding up surprisingly well. “I was holed up in my office during the outbreak, with my staff, and one of those – _things_ managed to smash a window, and that was it. Complete chaos. If your secretary hadn’t been caught, I suspect I wouldn’t have made it out of there.”

“For some people, the infection can be staved off for a significant length of time,” he murmured. His eyes stung. He ran a thumb beneath them, wiping away any hint of moisture. “That may have something to do with their height, build, age, however, so I can’t say for sure if we’ll have that long in your case.” Gathering his bearings, he turned to pass Oswald the hand towel. His companion absentmindedly sloughed it over his wound. “But it’s alright, Oswald. I can fix this.”

Oswald snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ed. It’s not alright. I know it isn’t. That’s why I came here.”

“I understand you _think_ you’re going to die, but I-“

“No. Stop.” Oswald raised his uninjured hand to forestall interruption. “I came here to be upfront about how I – how I felt about you. I wanted to tell you before I died. I’ve been meaning to mention it for a while now, but I never found the appropriate moment, especially not with Isabelle-”

“Isabella,” he corrected him.

“Isabella,” said Oswald, slightly irate. “I didn’t think it appropriate to tell you so soon after breaking up with her, but considering the circumstances, I simply can’t withhold my feelings any longer.”

Edward stared at Oswald, at a loss for what he was trying to convey. “I… I beg your pardon?”

When Oswald replied, his voice did not tremor. It was calm and steady, and he looked Edward square in the eye. “I love you, Ed.”

“As a friend?”

Oswald shook his head.

Ah.

Edward, for the first time in his life, couldn’t think of anything to say. He stared at Osward for a length of time that must have been unnerving for the poor man, and still didn’t know how to proceed. In lieu of words, he popped open his suture kit and reached for Oswald’s arm, drawing it into his lap.

Oswald looked at him beseechingly. “Have you nothing to say?”

“Let me fix this before we get into a discussion regarding your… feelings.”

“There’s no point. I’m _dying_. I’ve accepted that.”

He pulled on his gloves. “Well, don’t accept it, because I certainly won’t.” With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched Oswald’s wound shut. “I’m going to dress this, and then I’ll concoct something to stop the progression of the infection. We just need to reach the GCPD.”

A sigh whistled past Oswald’s lips. For someone being offered survival, he didn’t seem very enthusiastic. “Why?” 

“I have a supply of chemicals, but my equipment is lacking,” he explained. The chemicals in question were hobby-grade and not especially extensive, but a few of them could be used in medicine or had components that could be used in medicine. Supplemented with what the GCPD had, they ought to be sufficient. All going well, he wouldn’t even need them; he would just use what was provided by the laboratory.

“The forensics lab should have all the equipment and information I need,” he continued. “They conducted tests on Tetch’s blood prior to the outbreak and should have archived the results, though I may need to draw a vial or two from you regardless. Just as a basis for my cure.”

“Far be it from me to doubt your abilities, but don’t these things take a few months, at the very least?”

“Generally, yes, but as we don’t have months, I’ll just have to make do with what time we do have.” 

The needle slipped in, and then out. In, and then out. Oswald’s expression remained slack throughout the procedure. Edward suspected he’d lost all feeling in the area, which was probably a good thing because Edward wasn’t _that_ adept at suturing.

The jagged edges of the wound prevented him from stitching a neat line, and Oswald ended up with something of a lightning bolt by the time he was done.

“There,” he said, examining his work. With a little gauze and regular cleaning that wound would heal up just fine. “Now, do you think you’ll be able to make the journey to the GCPD, or should I arrange some kind of transport?”

“I… I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” said Oswald. “Nor mine.”

In response to this, Edward slid his hands over Oswald’s. He couldn’t help but notice how cold they were, like ice. “I once told you I believed in you, Oswald, and now I need you to believe in me. I need you to hold on long enough to let me do this.”

Oswald opened his mouth, paused, and then frowned. Edward knew he was victorious long before Osward voiced his concession. “Very well.”

Ever a man of contingency plans, Edward already had a duffel bag packed full of necessities. All he had to do was throw in another torch and a couple of med-kits and they were ready for their journey.

At the door, Oswald withdrew a pistol from his coat and asked, “What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to take a trip into the sewers,” answered Edward.

Oswald’s nose wrinkled. “Try to get us to the GCPD before I expire, then, because I’d prefer to die with some modicum of dignity.”

* * *

The sewers weren’t as repulsive as Edward had been anticipating. Damp and smelly, with a few questionable things lying about, but there wasn’t the abundance of faecal matter or urine Edward had expected. It was tolerable. He still tied a bandanna over his mouth and nose to obstruct the unpleasant odour that permeated the pipes, but that was primarily because the thought of breathing in particles of sewage disgusted him.

Before they’d even left the vicinity of his loft, Oswald’s wobbling resumed. Edward quickly pressed their sides together and pulled Oswald’s arm up around his shoulders, allowing Oswald to use him as leverage. It was difficult to support Oswald and carry the duffel bag at the same time, but it was either that or allow Oswald to rest, and they simply didn’t have enough time for the latter. He would just have to put up with aching muscles until they reached their destination.

They discussed the outbreak as they walked.

“So it started with Barnes?”

“I assume so,” answered Edward. “I believe he infected one of his inferiors, and they went on to infect another, and so on, so forth.”

“I see.”

“And then,” continued Edward. “I think the infection must have reached those who had escaped Pinewood, because it’s changed dramatically since its initial presentation.” He shrugged a shoulder, the one that wasn’t holding up Oswald. “But I can’t say for sure. I was only present for debacle at the GCPD.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Work for you, actually. I wanted to provide you an updated report on the Tetch situation, seeing as there was some expectation for the mayor to find a solution for it.”

“Tetch. I hope he’s rotting somewhere,” said Oswald, his voice steadily losing volume. “This entire mess is his fault.” Edward turned to examine Oswald. His pallid skin glistened under the torch light, sweaty from exertion.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Oswald leaned his forehead into Edward’s upper arm. Despite the fever he was running, his skin was so cold it radiated through Edward's jacket. “I watched one of them change while I was in my office. I’m don’t think I have much longer.”

“We’re not far from the GCPD.” Edward hoisted Oswald a little higher up his side, though his muscles screamed in protest. “It usually takes me forty minutes to walk to work, and we’ve been walking for at least half an hour. But I can…” He hesitated. “I can carry you the rest of the way, if you like.”

Oswald looked at Edward’s arms, his expression unreadable, and then up at Edward. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t want to burden you more than I already am.”

“It wouldn’t be a burden.” Edward offered him a broad smile, like his arms weren’t currently threatening to give out on him.

“What you’re already doing is enough.”

Visibly relieved, Edward nodded his head.

Oswald looked about ready to kneel over by the time they reached the appropriate manhole. Edward gently deposited him against the wall and climbed up the ladder, using his head and shoulders to push the cover aside; his arms were too tired for the task. Once he was able to peer out into the street, he surveyed the front of the GCPD for hostiles and found it vacant. The infected must have moved on to greener pastures. There were some infected wander around far up the street, however, and they’d have to be cautious of them.

He dropped down back down the where Oswald was waiting. “Think you can climb up?”

“I’ll go first,” said Oswald, pushing himself upright. He reached for the rungs. “That way you can catch me if I fall.”

“I’m not sure how effective I’ll be as a safety net right now,” he said, but he still let Oswald go before him.

Despite their mutual exhaustion, they managed to ascend the ladder without incident. Upon reaching the street, Oswald pulled him down onto his hunches and they crawled their way to the building entrance. As Oswald was currently incapacitated, struggling to remain upright, it was Edward who entered first. He held Oswald’s pistol at the ready and swivelled it in a wide arc as they advanced on the forensics lab.

There were several corpses in their path, all of which had similar injuries; torn out jugulars, flesh stripped from bone, caved in skulls. Edward paused briefly to examine one whose nose had been ripped clean off of their face. Under different circumstances, it might have made for a fascinating sight.

Oswald spent a significant amount of time examining the same body and rummaging through their pockets with shaking hands.

“We don’t have time to be looting corpses,” whispered Edward over his shoulder, gesturing to the infected sniffing at a dead body on the other side of the building.

Oswald hurried to catch up to him, clambering over the corpse on his hands and knees. His pants would be ruined, thought Edward, though it hardly mattered. There was no one around to appreciate how dapper he looked in his tailored outfits.

He reached down to help Oswald over another corpse, much larger than the last – and froze, because Oswald’s was looking at him expectantly and his eyes didn’t look at all like they ought to. They were a pale blue, almost grey, surrounded by tendrils of dark red. He’d never seen veins so prominent in someone’s eyes before.

Oswald noticed him staring and reached up to rub his face, brow creased. “What? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s- it’s nothing.” After all the encouragement Edward had provided Oswald, Edward wasn’t about to worry him by informing him of the state of his eyes. The resulting stress would only exacerbate his condition.

He started moving before Oswald could continue asking questions. They weren’t far from the lab now. A few more meters and they’d be home free.

Up ahead an infected lumbered along slowly and clumsily, its mouth attached to the fleshiest part of a leg it was carting along. The body it belong to wasn’t far from the scene, lying on the stairs, completely indistinguishable as a person. It’d been stripped right down to the bone. One couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. With how thorough the infected were with their feasting, it seemed miraculous that anyone had survived to become new infected. He supposed the process was faster for some than it was for others. Different degrees of self-control.

Edward grabbed a nearby badge and threw it into the corner closest their obstacle. As he had predicted, the beast immediately sought out the sound, dropping their meal in favour of inspecting the area surrounding the badge. Edward coiled an arm around Oswald’s waist and rushed him up the stairs, taking longer, wider steps than Oswald was currently capable of, eager to get out of harms way.

His friend was hanging off his shoulder again by the time they reached the landing, and they both breathed a sigh of relief once they were safely tucked inside a hallway. They quietly closed what little distance remained between themselves and the laboratory and slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind them. Edward retrieve what he needed from the duffle bag and threw it into a corner before he got to work.

The familiarity of the room reassured him. As he circled the metal counter in the middle of the room, reaching for chemicals, plucking equipment toward himself, he could feel his unease starting to drain away.

And then a thud sounded from the opposite side of the room and he jumped.

Oswald had fallen. He now lay on the floor in a heap, chin resting on his clavicle. His eyes were open and very bright in the dark of the room, iris’ surrounded by so much red that it almost looked like it were bleeding. Edward considered going over to him, but thought better of it when Oswald started to pant.

“Edward,” he whispered, head lolling to the side, now resting on his shoulder. The intensity of his gaze made Edward squirm. “Edward, come over here.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not going to harm you.”

“Not _voluntarily_.”

“No, I mean…” Oswald pawed at his jacket pocket, grip so weak that he was barely able to withdraw a pair of handcuffs. The key hung out of its lock. “I took these off the officer outside. I need you to come over here, and…” A dry swallow. “Put them on me. So I don’t attack you while you’re working.”

Edward slowly set the items he had been gathering back on the counter. Even if Oswald had wanted to hurt him, he was too weak to do so. There was no need for him to be so nervous. They were not yet hunter and prey; there was time to prevent that outcome.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He approached Oswald, taking the handcuffs from his extended hand. With a hiss and a click, he had secured Oswald’s wrist to the pipe behind him. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, but it would keep him at bay should his affliction start to overwhelm him.

Before leaving Oswald’s side, he very gently, cautiously drew a vials worth of blood. All going well, it would be all he needed. He then returned to his workstation to begin developing his cure.

It wasn’t long before he began to lose himself in his work. Chemistry forced you to think critically and analytically, to examine established boundaries and rules, to push beyond them, and those were things Edward had always excelled at. It was just another puzzle to be solved. He knew he could. There was little he couldn’t achieve when he set his mind to it.

For hours he toiled over his solution, oblivious to all but the task at hand. His workspace became progressively messier, covered in notes, samples, and failed composites. A breakthrough wasn’t far off. It wasn’t going to be a cure; he’d realized that during initial examination of Oswald’s blood – he was too far along to be saved in that regard – but Edward _would_ be able to stop the progression of the infection, and that was better than nothing.

A groan startled him out of his reverie. He raised his head to look at Oswald, who now lay sprawled across the cement with his face tucked into the crook of an elbow. It was such an awkward position that Edward could see his shoulder blades sticking out through his jacket.

“Oswald, are you still conscious?”

No response.

He grabbed a hypodermic needle, placing it beside his mixture.

“Hold on. I’m almost done. I just – need to add a few more things, then I can give this to you. Fifteen minutes maximum.”

What followed was the longest fifteen minutes of his entire life. His heart thrummed like a trapped bird in his chest, rendering every breath he took fast and shallow. He’d never been good at working under pressure. Always became clumsy and prone to babbling.

The finished compound was a dark, viscous liquid that smelt faintly of moss. He diluted the liquid with saline before sucking a small portion of it into his syringe, flicking out any air bubbles on his way to Oswald’s side.

“It’s done! Now, you may feel some discomfort as this goes in, but that should subside when-!”

Metal clashed against metal. The sound bounced off the walls, vibrated up Edward’s ears, and he fell backward onto his ass, momentarily side swept by the sight and sound of Oswald trying to fight his way out of his restraints. Spittle flew as Oswald snarled at him, all pink gums and stained teeth. He scrambled back until his shoulders hit the base of the counter.

“Don’t run away,” hissed Oswald, glaring as though Edward had done him a great disservice. The pipe squealed as it was bent under Oswald’s unrelenting strain. “Come here, Ed. Don’t run from me.”

“I’m – I’m not running. I’m still right here.” Edward nervously tucked his heels against this thighs. “Get a hold of yourself. We’re too close to beating this for you to lose control of your faculties.”

Oswald lowered his head, skin paper-white and lined with effort. “Believe me, I – I am trying.” A shudder rocked through him. “You just look _very_ inviting, my friend.”

Edward self-consciously tugged his shirt collar higher up his neck. “Do you think you can restrain yourself long enough to give you this? Because I’d rather not have to waste the rest on myself, just in case I need to give you an additional dose.”

“Yes.” Oswald’s nostrils flared. “As long as you don’t linger. Inject it and move.”

Edward hastily pulled himself onto his knees and crept closer to Oswald. He gave Oswald a wide breadth as he extended a hand toward his neck, positioning the needle beside a tendon.

This brought back memories.

The injection was done within seconds. As he withdrew, he felt Oswald’s lips graze the inside of his wrist, breath cold on his skin. Did he even need to breathe anymore or was he just doing it instinctively?

He quickly returned to his position against the counter.

Oswald stared at him with unblinking, red-rimmed eyes, and Edward stared back, periodically glancing away to see if Oswald would follow suit. He didn’t. Not immediately, in any case; it was only after a very long stretch of silence that Oswald was lucid enough to be self-conscious of his leering.

“It seems to be working,” was the first thing he said, followed by, “You’re brilliant.”

Edward offered him a wavering smile. “Thank you, Oswald. You know I would never let you down.”

“I don’t doubt it. You did all of this just to save me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to face this,” he made a vague gesture. “All on my own. I’ve gotten used to having you around.”

“I feel the same way.” The handcuffs clacked against the pipe as Oswald adjusted his position, stretching his legs out before him. The leg that had always ailed him didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore.

Edward sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, contemplating Oswald. This seemed as good at time as any to talk about Oswald’s romantic interest. “Forgive me for asking, but is that why you’re in love with me? Because you’re used to having me around?”

The edges of Oswald’s mouth curved down. “Isn’t that how relationships usually begin?”

“I suppose it is,” said Edward. “How long have you felt that way?”

“Ever since the incident with Butch,” answered Oswald, his mouth descending even lower. “If you’re going to tell me you don’t return my feelings, then be forthright about it, Ed. I don’t need this. Especially not right now.”

“No!” Edward’s hands shot up in a placating gesture. “No, it’s not that. I just grew up in a very _conservative_ family, so it’s a lot to wrap my mind around.” A pause, and he added. “I’m not rejecting you. I do love you - I wouldn’t throw myself in harm’s way for someone I didn’t. I’m just not sure we’re quite where you want us to be yet.”

Oswald continued to frown. “Given that it’s the end of the world, I don’t think you need to worry about the judgement of your family.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to worry prior to the outbreak either. All I’m asking is that you give me a few days to work through my thoughts.”

“You didn’t need that time with Miss Kringle and the _other_ lady,” murmured Oswald, his voice full of distaste. “But if time is what you need, so be it. We have all the time in the world.”

That was true. They had no schedule, no obligations. Just each other and a dark, steel room.

Thinking about it made Edward feel a little claustrophobic.

“Do you want me to remove those for you?” he asked, gesturing to the handcuffs.

Oswald shook his head. “Not a good idea to do that yet.”

“Oh.” Edward let his head fall back, cradled by the counter behind him. “How much longer do you think you’ll need?”

“I should be fit to travel by tomorrow. We’ll spend the night here and see how I feel in the morning.”

“That’s a little longer than I was hoping.”

Oswald scoffed. “One night is barely any time at all.”

“It might seem that way to you, but I do have basic urges to address, and I don’t feel it would be safe to venture out on my own.”

“If you really, desperately need to go to the bathroom at any point in the night, you’ll just have to unlock these-“ He gave the handcuffs a shake. “So I can clear the infected for you. Provided I feel it would be safe to do that, of course.”

If that ended up being necessary, he’d have to hope Oswald would be able to restrain himself long enough to clear a path to the toilets, because Edward was _not_ urinating or defecating in the room they would be occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. That would be terribly unhygienic.

“You can sleep to pass the time,” said Oswald.

It _had_ been a while since he’d last slept. The potential end of the world was the sort of thing that kept one awake.

“Alright,” he agreed. “If anything happens, be sure to wake me.”

“I will. Sleep well, Edward.”

With one last look at Oswald, at his sickly white skin and rapt gaze, Edward slowly lowered himself to the floor and tucked his knees to his chest, closing his eyes. Despite the cold that pervaded the room, sleep came to him surprisingly fast. He felt more comforted by Oswald’s presence than he really ought to have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback, guys! I appreciate it! 
> 
> Not much else to note, but I've provided a picture at the beginning of this chapter so people will have a better idea of what Oswald looks like.

 

* * *

 Even from the opposite side of the room, Oswald could smell Edward. It was intoxicating, the salt and sweat on his skin intermingling with notes of spice. It was the end of the world and Edward had _still_ taken the time to apply aftershave. Little things like that were what made Edward so endearing.

And right now, that wasn’t a good thing, because right now Osward couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss Edward or tear him apart.

He looked as good as he smelled, not a single blemish to be seen on his pale skin. His lips were prominent pink. So full of colour, full of life, and it would have been easy for Oswald deprive him of that. To hold him down, rip out his jugular, watch it all drain away…

Oswald took a deep, shuddering breath and refocused his eyes on Edward’s chest. Whenever his conquest took a breath, his chest would rise, pectorals straining against his dress shirt, and the want in Oswald’s belly would coil like a viper. He’d never wanted someone else so much in his entire life.

He probably could have escaped his bindings if he’d wanted to, wrenched the pipe right off the wall and leapt upon Edward. But he knew if he did that, he’d do something he would regret. He didn’t want to hurt Edward. He especially didn’t want to hurt him now, while he was slumbering so peacefully. His new predatory instincts weren’t enough to convince him that the satisfaction of wrenching the life out of Edward would be enough to stave off the self-loathing and horror that would follow. He didn’t think he could live in a world without him; he was barely clinging on to one without his mother.

One day he would have Edward Nygma, but not in a way that would deprive him of his life, and not against his will.

Edward would reciprocate his feelings eventually. He just had to be patient.

* * *

Edward awoke slowly, blearily, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. In his post-slumber disorientation, he momentarily forgot why he was sitting in the dark with Oswald opposite him, wrists bound to a pipe, and his heart skipped a beat. It was quite the scene to wake up to.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Oswald, and it all came flooding back. The outbreak, Oswald’s affliction, the journey through the sewer.

Edward sighed and dropped his face into his hands. He wasn’t feeling terribly refreshed. He couldn’t have slept as long as he needed to. “I’m not sure ‘well’ should be applied to anything in this situation.”

“Well,” began Oswald, smiling broadly, like he’d just displayed the height of humour. “You’re looking livelier than you were yesterday. I can’t say the same for myself, but your cure seems to have worked.” He swept his tongue across his bottom lip. “Would you undo these for me? My wrists are starting to ache.”

“Is it safe to do that?” asked Edward.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t,” said Oswald.

The skin around his wrists _was_ looking sore. “Alright.” Edward planted a hand on the ground, pushing himself to his knees. “But if you make any move to bite me, I’m leaving you there for an additional hour.”

“Only one? You’re too kind, my friend. I would suggest at least three.”

“I always have kindness to spare for you.”

Edward shuffled over to Oswald and reached for his restraints, keeping an eye on Oswald as he released his hands. They fell limply to the cement floor. With a sympathetic grimace, Edward gently took one and ran a thumb over the marks left by the metal biting into the flesh.

“They’re fine,” said Oswald, though he made no move to withdraw his hand. He seemed to be enjoying the intimacy.

Come to think of it, Oswald had initiated an awful lot of physical contact in the last few months. He really should have been able to figure out Oswald’s feelings for him long before Oswald divulged them.

“I don’t think they’ll heal,” continued Oswald, smiling lopsidedly up at Edward. “But that’s alright. There’s no one around to notice.”

“Except me,” murmured Edward. He’d have to find some salve to rub into the marks, see if that made any difference.

Oswald gave indication that he wanted to stand, and Edward obligingly rose to his feet and backed out of his path. Though it didn’t seem like Oswald needed any help, Edward still extended a hand. It was the polite thing to do.

“Thank you,” said Oswald, allowing Edward to pull him upright.

For the first time since Edward had met Oswald, he saw the man stand straight and tall, unimpeded by his injured leg. He still had a dragging limp, but it was significantly less pronounced. Often when they had spoken prior to the outbreak, Oswald had leaned on his good foot or his cane, and he would be level with Edward’s chest throughout their conversations. It was strange to see him holding himself in a manner that opposed his ‘penguin’ moniker.

Edward stooped to retrieve the handcuffs while Oswald crossed the room, and then turned to watch Oswald remove a kitchen knife from the duffel bag. “I’m going clear the building and grab some things from storage,” he told Edward, turning the blade over in his hands. It was a worn weapon and rather thin. It probably wouldn’t last long. “They have batons in there, don’t they?”

“Electroshock batons, riot batons, expandable batons – there’s enough there to arm a battalion,” answered Edward.

“I don’t think we’ll need quite that many,” said Oswald. He seemed to revel in his newfound mobility, pushing open the door with the toe of his dress shoe. “I’ll see you shortly.”

Edward perched himself on the counter to wait.

The door was left ajar. A wedge of light cut across the laboratory and Edward could see the tails of Oswald's coat flutter before he stepped out of view. A primeval yowl of pain filtered in from the hallway, followed by a soft gurgling; had Oswald cut someone’s throat? Edward was tempted to peek his head out and look, but he knew better than to give into that urge.

It didn’t take Oswald long to deal with what few hostiles remained in the building. They didn’t expect one of their own to attack, and nor did they have the intelligence to return the assault before it was too late. He tottered back into the room with little more than a splatter of blood on his waistcoat and dropped a pile of weapons and armour at Edward’s feet. Among them, Edward could see a gas mask, one of the riot gas masks he’d never been allowed to wear. Something to prevent the infection from entering through his mouth, he supposed. He picked it up and put it on.

“It’s a start,” said Oswald, reaching up to help him with the strap. His fingers lingered at the sides of Edward’s head just a few seconds longer than necessary. Edward knew because Edward was an observant man.

(In matters not related to love, in any case.)

“You went for the electroshock batons,” observed Edward. He dropped off the counter to stick one in his belt. That would be a little more effective than the crowbar he’d initially armed himself with.

Oswald plucked a bulletproof vest and tan trench coat out of the pile, shoving both into Edward’s arms. “That was from Jim’s locker,” he said, gesturing to the coat. Edward glanced it over. Jim’s name had been written in feminine handwriting on the inside of the collar. Thompkins must have done that for him while they were dating.

He slipped the vest over his head, then shrugged on the trench coat. It was a comfortable fit. A little loose around the torso, but otherwise snug. He did up the buttons and tied the belt and then turned around to examine himself in the reflection of the counters metal surface.

“I look like the protagonist of a science fiction novel,” he murmured, running a hand up through his hair, attempting to tuck it behind his ears. It was as messy as it had been in Arkham. Hadn’t taken it long to yield to the elements.  

“Then you look very handsome indeed,” said Oswald, moving to stand beside him. They made for an unusual pair. One pale, prickly looking infected in the finest wear one could afford, and their science fiction protagonist of a companion.

Edward turned an inquisitive eye on Oswald. “You read science fiction novels?”

“Oh, no.” Oswald retreated a step, looking up at Edward. “But it’d be a little uncultured of me not to know some science fiction novel protagonists, wouldn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Which was a lie, because he would say that. Just not to Oswald’s face.

He retrieved the remainder of Oswald’s loot from the floor and carted it over to the duffel bag, carefully sliding it inside, one piece after the other, from largest to smallest. Edward was always very methodical about these things. When he was done, he heaved the bag onto his shoulder and almost buckled under the weight.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to carry that?” asked Oswald.

“But your-“ Oh right. His leg was wasn’t bothering him anymore. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Oswald effortlessly transferred the bag to his own shoulder.

The moment they had vacated the room, Edward made a beeline for the men’s bathroom and did his business. He grabbed as many rolls of toilet paper as he could carry before exiting. Upon seeing them, Oswald chuckled and unzipped the duffel bag for him. He pushed them in, right down to the bottom of the bag, because he didn’t want to risk sullying something that would be touching his bare posterior.

They were fortunate enough to find a police van with a key in its ignition in the station parking lot. After evicting the corpse slumped over the steering wheel, Edward slid into the front seat and waited for Oswald to finish depositing their things in the back. He hopped into the passenger seat a moment later, closing and locking his door.

“There’s a Garden Depot about fifteen minutes from here.” As he spoke, he released the parking break and turned the key. The engine came to life with a low growl.

“You have a plan, then, I take it?”

“Of course.” Edward started backing out of the parking lot. “We’re going to need gardening supplies and food. As much food as we can carry.”

“We’ll need a freezer,” said Oswald. “For the meat.”

“Meat wasn’t really what I…” His gaze darted to Oswald’s mouth, and then away. It was unlikely Oswald could subsist on anything _but_ meat now. “We might be able to fit a freezer in the van, but we’ll have to find one first and decide exactly how we’re going to power it.”

“No need. My limousine has a freezer.”

“Large enough to store _meat_?”

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Thought that wasn’t exactly its intended use.”

The meaning of that comment wasn’t lost on Edward. “We’ll go to the Garden Deapot first. It’s closer.”

Oswald leaned his elbow on the passenger window. The overhead lights danced over his pallid features as Edward pulled away from the curb and into the street. A few infected turned their way, but they could hardly pursue a moving vehicle.

Edward hadn’t had a good look at what had become of Gotham until now. When the outbreak had begun to ravage populated areas, he had already returned to his loft to observe from the safety of his window. The streets had been filled with restless crows of men, women, and children, all of them fighting among each other for safety and supplies. They had broken windows, stolen everything they could carry, filled their gas tanks with their weapons raised at anyone who tried to cut in line.

The streets were quiet now. Most inhabitants were either infected or dead, and the infected were quiet as they roved in search of food. It made them adept hunters. He saw a twitching, moaning man being feasted upon in a distant alleyway and adverted his eyes, well aware they wouldn’t be alive for much longer. Death was a constant presence in his life, and something he had reaped pleasure from on more than one occasion, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to watch people die needlessly to savages.

The ride to the Garden Deapot was a quiet one. Sombre. He parked up as close to the building as possible, riding up the curb to do so. Oswald was the first to exit the vehicle. Edward waited patiently in the car while he scoped out the area, dispatching any lingering infected. As it was no short task, Edward busied himself by making a mental list of what they needed.

_Shovel. Trowel. Scissors. Pruning shears. A watering bucket. A coil of hose. A rake. Some weed killer. Insect repellent. A soil knife. A hoe. And every edible plant available, of course._

He wished he had a pen and paper. He’d have to keep in mind to pick some up when they went to the grocery store, even if he had to nick some from behind the counter.

When Oswald returned, the first thing he did was reach into the vehicle and grab a handful of tissues from the dashboard.

“It’s clear,” he told Edward, using the tissues to wipe a splatter of blood off his cheek. He then retreated to throw the tissues into a bin, and Edward followed suit, hopping out of the car and hurrying after him.

He took the keys out of the ignition just in case.

Before entering the store, Edward grabbed himself a cart. He pushed it over a corpse just inside the entrance of the store and rolled it into the nearest aisle, already scanning the shelves for what he needed. Oswald trailed behind him. Like a weary guard dog, he didn’t say anything, merely surveyed their surroundings as Edward retrieved supplies.

It didn’t take him long to find everything he needed, given that there were no other patrons to navigate past. The seeds for the garden he would soon be cultivating were the last to be thrown into the cart. They returned to the van, heaving the entire car into the back and setting off down the street.

At the grocery store, Oswald insisted Edward remain in the car while he gathered food. “I don’t think I can kill all of them,” he told Edward, gesturing to the clusters of infected inside. The grocery store was overrun with them, some hunched over the decaying bodies of the dead, others lumbering around in search of fresher meat, and Edward only agreed to remain in the vehicle because he wasn’t sure Oswald would have been able to raze through them all without some attempt at defence from the ones who still had brain cells to rub together.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited, humming a tune from his youth. From an old black and white television show he couldn’t quite remember the name of, only that his parents had plonked him in front of it whenever he’d started insistently asking questions. They’d never liked how inquisitive he was, nor his fondness of riddles. ‘Annoying little boy’ they’d called him.

_They’re probably dead now_ , he thought. For most people, that would have been a distressing thought, but for Edward it was a pleasing one. He’d never gotten along with his parents, especially his vacuous brute of a father. He’d always loathed that his child was smarter than him. Edward supposed most parents wouldn’t like that, but that was no excuse for the deplorable way he had treated his son. If he was hobbling around Edward’s childhood home brainless and hungry, his state of being wouldn’t have changed much.

The drumming on the steering wheel became louder, less focused. He didn’t notice what a racket he was making until a body slammed itself up against the side of the van. He yelped, twisting in his seat, fumbling for his seatbelt buckle as an infected tried to pull open his car door. Muscle memory, it must have been, because it was yanking at the door and tapping at the glass, over the slip of plastic that indicated the car was locked. Edward quickly slammed a palm over the lock on Oswald’s side, just in time to prevent another infected from joining him in the vehicle. The gaunt figure came right up to the window, smearing blood and spit on the glass. It seemed to be smiling, all bloodied teeth and rotting gums.

Quivering from panic, breaths coming out in short gasps, Edward squeezed himself past the chairs and into the back of the van, curling himself into a tiny, imperceptible ball behind the shopping cart. It would be utterly useless should they succeed in breaking in, but he still took some comfort in being hidden from view.

The dead continued their assault on the car doors. Edward could hear the metal starting to strain, the doors starting to detach. When they realized they would be able to pull them right off their hinges, he was going to die. They would come in, climb over to him and rip him apart while he was still alive, still conscious of every agonizing sensation. There were probably worse ways to die, but Edward was having a hard time thinking of them right now.

In one last, desperate attempt to preserve his life, though he knew it would attract more of the beasts, he dragged his gas mask down to his neck and yelled Oswald’s name.

“Oswald! Oswald!” Louder and louder, hands clapped hard over his ear so he wouldn’t have to listen to the infected break through his last defences. “Oswald!” The entire car was shuddering. More infected had joined the assault, he was sure of it.

A yelp barrelled out of him when the back doors suddenly opened.

Much to his relief, it wasn’t an infected that lumbered their way inside – at least, not one of the mindless infected.

“Edward, are you alright?” whispered Oswald.

Edward swallowed thickly, unaware of the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. He’d never been so scared in his entire life.

“Just shaken,” he replied hoarsely.

Oswald sighed, audibly relieved. The infected were still hammering at the sides of the van as he lowered himself to Edward’s side and cupped Edward’s face in his hands, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. Like a parent reassuring a child.

“I’ll be right back. Stay down.” He pulled the hoe out of their gardening supplies and re-entered the fray.

Edward did as he instructed and remained where he was, crouched low and still shaking, though he knew now that he was safe. Oswald wouldn’t let him die.

He let his hands fall away from his ears, listening to the tell-tale sounds of a massacre. It seemed, no matter how evenly matched they were in regards to physical strength, Oswald’s intelligence gave him enough of an advantage to raze through his infected brethren with relative ease. It was reassuring to hear the splash of blood on cement and the thud of falling bodies.

His panic had receded by the time Oswald returned. He wasn’t empty handed: he came with two shopping carts full of meat in freezer bags and various cans. Edward cast a nervous glance out each window before he left his hiding place to help Oswald load the cart into the back (thought he hardly needed the assistance. Edward just didn’t like to feel useless).

“Next time that happens,” started Oswald, throwing the sullied hoe back into its cart. It would have to be thoroughly cleaned before Edward could use it for gardening. “Please call for me before things get out of hand. I can only deal with so many of those brutes at a time.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry.” He offered Oswald a sheepish smile. “I won’t be letting that happen again anytime soon.”

“Good,” said Oswald. “Because I don’t want to find out this body isn’t impervious to heart attacks.” He reached over, curling a hand into Edward’s forearm. “For a moment there, I honestly thought you were yelling out because… because they…”

He could see Oswald was getting emotional, as he was prone to in these situations. Edward quickly folded a hand over his knuckles. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you, especially now.” Oswald slowly pulled back, shaking his head. “Look at me, getting all sentimental again. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Edward reassured him. “I find myself - especially as of late - getting sentimental about you as well.” He pulled the van doors shut while Oswald collected himself.

“You do?” The hopefulness in Oswald’s voice made Edward wonder if, perhaps, he’d been doing a poor job of showing his appreciation for Oswald.

“Oswald.” He turned away from the van and stepped closer to his companion, arms raised, hesitating. Oswald had hugged him twice thus far. The least he could do was return the gesture. “Oswald,” he said again, folding his arms over Oswald’s shoulders and pulling him close. There was a startling coolness to his skin. Edward inhaled sharply and curled his fingers into the back of Oswald’s jacket, trying not to shiver. He didn’t want Oswald to think he was repelled by his new body. “You mean more to me than anybody else in my life. More than anyone who has ever been in my life, in fact. More than Kristen, more than Isabella.”

Oswald burrowed into the folds of his coat, pointed nose dragging on the cotton. His breath felt like a winter’s breeze, breaching the fabric and crawling across goose pimpled skin. “Thank you.”

He could tell it was with great reluctance that Oswald relinquished his hold, pulling back and out of Edward’s arms. “But we mustn’t stay any longer. The infected will have heard your shouting, no doubt.”

“Oh. Yes.” Edward had no desire to find himself flanked by hostiles again. While he was sure Oswald would be able to deal with them, it didn’t stop the prospect from being terrifying.

They returned to their respective seats and resumed driving, setting off in the direction of Oswald’s mansion.

* * *

Before entering the mansion, they transferred all the frozen meat into one of Oswald’s limousines. While doing so, Edward made a note of its width and height, deeming it large enough to fit at least three dead bodies.

“It was meant to fit four, but the men who installed it underestimated how large the battery port would be,” commented Oswald. “It’s been sufficient, though. Almost makes me feel bad for having those men fired.”

Edward didn’t ask whether that was done in a literal sense.

Oswald had a single cleaner and cook employed to maintain his house and everything inside it, and he paid them generously enough that Edward and Oswald weren’t surprised to find the house in pristine condition when they arrived, nor were they surprised to find a meal sitting at their dining table. It looked old, but still recent enough that Edward could tell it had been laid out during the outbreak. That was some dedication to service. If Holga was still alive, she deserved a raise.

The first thing Edward did was start filling pillowcases full of books while Oswald stepped into the bedrooms to gather clothes. He couldn’t stand the thought of being without mental stimulation. It’d been bad enough being stuck in his loft, re-reading all the books he owned.

He threw in a few game sets in the hope Oswald would indulge him.

When Oswald returned from the bedroom, he came carting two full suitcases of clothes. “There’s a third by the exit,” he told Edward, dropping the largest by his feet. “This one contains the clothes of my father. You were relatively close in height and weight. They should fit you fine.”

Edward bent down to peek inside, making an approving sound. He needed clean clothes. He’d only been able to pack so many in his duffel bag and those were primarily under things (because he was not going to subject himself to wearing the same underwear for several days in a row).

“I grabbed entertainment,” said Edward, extending one of the pillowcases so Oswald could peek inside.

“You’ve emptied my father’s bookcases, I see.”

“He had exceptional taste.” A few of the books Edward had seen were books Edward had already read. He retrieved the pillowcase from the floor, heaving it over his shoulder. “Is there anything else we need?”

Oswald followed suit, picking the bag off the ground. “Nothing we can’t come back for later. Come, let’s put these in the car and retire to the dining room. I don’t think the food currently laid out is still edible, but I should be able to find something in the kitchens.”

“Would you like me to cook something?” asked Edward, because he was quite an adept cook. He’d learned at a young age.

Oswald shook his head. “There’ll be something prepared in the fridge, don’t you worry.”

There was indeed something prepared in the fridge. Several somethings, in fact. They had a choice between tuna casserole Holga had prepared earlier that week, cordon bleu that could be reheated, a variety of neatly prepared sandwiches, or a leg of ham. Oswald, of course, went for the leg of ham, cutting a significant portion off for himself. Edward selected a few sandwiches and went to join him in the dining room. 

They discussed plans for shelter as they ate. There was no doubt people on the outskirts of Gotham would have evacuated along with everyone else, so all they needed to do was find a vacant farm house. That would set them up with water and electricity, assuming those things didn’t go down at some point. If they did, they would have to think about finding or building a generator.

Edward took a radio from the living room before they left. They had one in the limo, of course, and there would probably be one wherever they decided to settle, but Edward brought it just to be sure. He had to have some contact with the outside world. He was sure, no matter how bad things got, humanity wouldn’t just abandon _every_ form of social media.

He let Oswald take the wheel for the next part of their journey. He, meanwhile, sat in the passenger seat with his gas mask by his feet and a map spread out in his lap, using a pen to circle potential accommodation. He kept his face down while they drove. If he were to look outside, he was sure to see something he wouldn’t like.

The sky was beginning to dim, signalling the arrival of the evening. They weren’t likely to reach the outskirts of Gotham before dark.

Oswald was driving one handed, he noticed. The arm that had been damaged lay limp at his side.

“How is it,” he asked, gesturing to the damaged limb. “Your arm, I mean.”

“Not bad. Starting to throb a little.” Oswald kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“Hopefully that it’s healing,” said Edward. He resisted the urge to peel back Oswald’s sleeve and take a look, returning to his map. It was going to take them another six hours, at the very least, to reach their first destination.

“Even if it doesn’t, it seems to be functioning just fine.” Oswald gave his fingers a squeeze, and Edward noticed the white of his knuckles were indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. He could see the blue of Oswald’s veins. “I feel better than I have in years, in fact.”

Edward hated to accuse him of such, but… “You’re not lying for my benefit, are you?”

“No, no, of course not,” said Oswald. He moved his injured arm to the steering wheel. “The throbbing is just a little bothersome. Not painful in the least.”

That answer placated Edward enough to cease his questioning and return to the map. There was no reason for Oswald to lie if Edward already suspected something was amiss. He was probably fine. They were going to be fine.

This frightening new world had taken his career, home, and safety from him, but it wasn’t going to take Oswald.


	3. Chapter 3

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he was hoisted back into reality by the chill of Oswald’s palm on his mouth and the handle of a baton being pressed into his hand. Oswald’s face was inches from his own. From this proximity, he could clearly see the little red veins in his eyes and the strange, ethereal glow of his irises. Edward made to lick his lips, but ended up licking Oswald’s palm instead. His friend twitched and inhaled sharply, but didn’t withdraw. There was something wanting in those eyes, exacerbated by the warmth of his tongue.

Oswald closed the space between them and whispered against the shell of his ear. “I’ve found a suitable house, my friend. But the family inside is infected. I need you to stay down and very quiet while I dispose of them.”

His gaze drifted to the left of Oswald, over his shoulder. The street was bathed in moonlight. It provided an outline of a hobbling figure, but no distinguishable features. He glanced to his right and saw additional figures gathered in the house, one of them in the process of climbing out the window, eager to investigate the vehicle that had parked itself outside.

There was another vehicle haphazardly parked in the driveway, headlights dim, providing only a smattering of light. He could see the driver’s door hanging off its hinges, blood splattered on its window. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how the entire family had come to be infected. 

Edward nodded against Oswald’s hand. It was slowly withdrawn, cool fingers dragging on warm skin. He hunched down the moment Oswald had withdrawn enough to accommodate it and slid to the floor, clutching his weapon close to his chest.

He would have felt a lot more secure with Oswald’s pistol, but it probably hadn’t occurred to Oswald to give him a weapon he could use from a distance, being as comfortable and adept with close-proximity weapons as he was.

Oswald must have decided to bludgeon his enemies to death rather than tear into them with a knife, because Edward heard the heavy thwack of metal connecting with bone, the crunch of skulls caving in. The last of the infected seemed to put up a struggle as he heard Oswald grunt and – growl? How odd. The sound was followed by the great _crah-ack_ bone being snapped and Edward knew he hadn’t bludgeoned _that_ one. Broken its neck, probably.

When Edward heard no further sounds, he crawled up the side of the passenger door and peered out the window. Oswald was nowhere to be seen.

“Oswald?” he called.

The driver door opened moments later to unveil a smiling Oswald. He hadn’t gotten any blood on himself this time. Evidently he’d chosen to bludgeon the infected to death to preserve his clothing.

“My apologies, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed anyone. You can come out now.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” mumbled Edward, throwing the baton into his seat and fumbling for the door handle. He pushed his door open, stumbled out, and stretched his arms up high above his head to disperse the stiffness from his joints.

Oswald had already begun transferring their bags into the farm house, carrying four at a time. Edward finished stretching and retrieved the pillowcases full of books and games, as well as his radio, and carted them up the veranda of the house. It was a nice, big house, two story, with a hall that led to a living room also the size of his loft. Big enough to be a comfortable place to live, but small enough that they wouldn’t have a hard time fortifying it. The walls were covered in old floral wallpaper with a beige background and the carpet was a rich red, dark enough to obscure any stains. Edward supposed that would come in handy should they ever need to kill an infected in the house.

The furniture was of high quality, if slightly worn. The house in general looked ‘slightly worn’. There was no mistaking it as anything but a family house, albeit a well-kept one.

He deposited the pillowcases on the living room floor and rose to remove a wooden cross from the far back wall, throwing it into a nice, wide fireplace situated in the corner. There was no fire going, but after throwing in all the bibles and crosses they would have enough combustible items to start one.

He was still removing crosses from walls and plucking bibles out of bookcases when Oswald returned with the last of their belongings. Tossing what he’d gathered into the fireplace, he went to help Oswald unpack.

“Already redecorating, Ed?” Oswald offered him a broad grin. Edward returned it, dropping to his hunches to unzip the bag that was full of weapons, a scattering of food, and under things. He’d best get the latter out before Oswald came upon them.

“I thought this room could use a touch of blasphemy.”

Oswald laughed, light and airy. He seemed to be in an impeccable mood despite the circumstances. “I’ll be able to help you with that shortly. I’m just going to move these to our bedroom.” A pause, and then Oswald cleared his throat. “Bedroom _s_ , I mean. Do you have a preference for which one you have?”

It went without saying that Oswald had hoped they would bed together. And honestly, had Oswald not indicated that desire, Edward would have thought nothing of it. He wanted to share a bedroom with Oswald. With the house not yet fortified, it wasn’t safe for Edward to sleep on his own.

“I’ll sleep with you,” he said, and Oswald stared at him for several long, awkward seconds. “In your room, that is,” he continued, discreetly moving his under things into his lap. “It’ll be safer that way.”

Very slowly, Oswald nodded. He didn’t drop eye contact. “Yes, I’ll – I’ll keep an eye on you as you rest. I’m not sure I’ll need to do much sleeping myself.”

“Thank you.”

And that, blessedly, was where the conversation ended.

Edward took his under things and suitcase full of clothes and carried them into the master bedroom. There was no point in unpacking them, not if they had to leave in a hurry, so he sat down and arranged his clothes into neat piles instead. Oswald brought his own clothes into the room, but left the suitcase by the door.

“I’ll have the fire going shortly,” he told Edward, and then turned and exited the room.

Edward continued to fold his clothes until every last article of clothing had been delegated a spot in the suitcase. By the time he returned to the lounge room, the fire was crackling away with Oswald sitting in front of it, periodically throwing in Christian paraphernalia. The bibles burned especially well.

He sat down beside Oswald, basking in the warmth. Autumn would soon be transitioning into winter and it could be felt in the air. Frigid nights, but tolerable days. Edward hoped the cold would slow down the infected. They didn’t appear to have good circulation.

“We should set up some traps tomorrow,” murmured Edward, already envisioning the various ways he could ensnare the infected. They were powerful, but they were still human. Still vulnerable in a plethora of ways. He could set up something to disable their legs. That would make them easy for either him or Oswald to take out, though Oswald didn’t seem to have much trouble with them as it was.

There had to be an equipment shed somewhere on the property. They could take what they needed from there. It would negate the need to use up their own resources, of which there were little.

Oswald hummed his agreement. “If you want to draw up a rough idea, there’s a pen and paper by the phone in the hall.”

“Not right this moment.” Edward slid down to his elbows, stretching out before the fire. The heat gathered around his legs. “I just need a moment to rest.”

“You’ve slept twice today.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Both times he’d fallen asleep, he hadn’t fallen into a deep enough slumber to dream. He knew it was because of stress. He hadn’t had this poor a quality of sleep since the incident with Kristen.

One of Oswald’s hands clapped down on his knee. It sent a chill right through him. Out of affection for his friend, he didn’t brush it away.

“After we’ve built our defenses, you’ll have nothing to worry about. We’ll be able to live here comfortably.” ‘For the rest of our lives’ went unsaid.

“You’re full of reassurances today.” Truth be told, Edward wasn’t feeling terribly reassured, but he managed to produce a smile for Oswald’s benefit. “You know, of all the people I could be facing this with, I’m glad it was you.”

Oswald looked sheepish, smiling and dropping his eyes to his lap like a schoolboy with a crush. “You flatter me, Ed.” The hand on his knee moved up a few inches before being abruptly withdrawn. Oswald didn’t seem to have the boldness to go any further, and Edward was grateful for that. If they were to get intimate – wouldn’t that lead to infection? Edward had the vials, of course, but he still had no desire to join the roves of infected, regardless of the ability to force the illness into stagnation, and he certainly didn’t want their _libidos_ to be the reason he ended up that way. He just didn’t know how to traverse a romantic relationship with Oswald under these circumstances.

However valid his concerns were, Edward couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about his reservations. He’d leapt into a relationship with Kristen and Isabella without a second thought, the latter of which, in retrospect, had been incredibly unhealthy. It wasn’t as thought a relationship with Oswald wasn’t achievable. They’d just have to restrain intimacy to holding one another; easy enough to achieve. He just – he’d never been in a relationship with a man before, nor had he ever conceived of being in one. He’d always considered himself straight. It was one of the few ‘normal’ things about him.

There was no need to hold into the recognized standard of ‘normal’ when few people were around to care, but even knowing that, knowing his father wouldn’t be around to call him ‘fag’, knowing he would be safe and happy with Oswald, he was still wary. Irrational fears born of abuse and he didn’t know what to do about them. If he knew how to deal with such issues, he wouldn’t have ended up murdering people.

“Ed?”

He snapped his head around to face Oswald, whose eyebrows and mouth were pinched with concern.

“Are you alright? You went quite for quite a bit there.”

“I’m fine,” he said, and he didn’t know why he said it, because he didn’t feel fine at all. He was suddenly feeling very anxious, his chest thrumming and his blood cold. Thinking about his upbringing always made him feel like this. “Just tired,” he added, folding his legs into his chest.

“It has been a long day.” Oswald stood and offered him a hand. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?”

“Might as well. I can’t draw up those defense plans like this.”

Sleep would do him some good. Even if he wasn’t likely to feel refreshed after, it ought to calm his nerves.

He accepted the proffered hand and let Oswald pull him upright. Once on his feet, Oswald’s hands dropped to his waist and undid his coat, enabling him to shrug it to the ground. He would retrieve it come morning.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” said Oswald, and Edward hoped he was right.

* * *

Once some preliminary traps had been prepared and set up around high-risk areas, primarily consisting of jaw traps and snares and a few innovations Edward had made out of batons, they decided to dig a moat around the perimeter of the farm. It was Edward’s idea. When winter came, the water would freeze and the infected would find it difficult to find their bearings on the slippy surface. It would make them easier to take out.

Even with a skid steer to help them displace the dirt, it still took them three days to complete the task, and on the fourth day they decided to suspend a fence inside the moat, which made the task drag on even longer. The following week was spent locating the necessary materials (which mostly consisted of them removing the materials the previous residents had bought for another farmhouse from the attic of the barn) and reading up on how exactly one built a fence.

Oswald did his part effortlessly, while Edward became a sweaty, panting mess within minutes. It had been a long time since he’d done such strenuous work. He’d never so much as had an exercise regime. By the time they reached the task of filling the moat with cement to accommodate the water and fence, he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even lift a bag of cement. Oswald kindly allowed him to prepare the metal sheets and steel posts while he readied the moat by himself. Though Oswald managed to finish suspending the fence and applying the cement astoundingly fast, it was several days before they were able to fill it with water.

Altogether the task took two weeks, and only twice had they had to halt work to deal with a meandering infected. They came from the city on occasion, seeking food, only to be greeted by the barrel of a shotgun Oswald had found in a bedroom cabinet. Now that they were far from civilization, Oswald had no problem letting him take out the infected with bullets, and Edward reveled in shooting them right in the face. It made him feel like he wasn’t completely helpless.

Before building a set of double doors, they removed the car from the driveway and replaced it with the limo. They placed the car as close to the wall as possible, to provide extra protection. And in a pinch, they could easily hop in and drive away, though Edward didn’t expect that to become necessary anytime soon. The farm was out of the way, safe. It wasn’t likely they would ever be driven away by a hoard of infected.

With the fence standing tall and their moat full of water, Edward felt safe enough to begin work on his garden. There was already a small one at the back of the house full of tomatoes, cucumber, and a few rows of corn, but Edward intended to make it bigger, to give himself more variety. He didn’t enjoy farm work; loathed it, in fact, but the prospect of having something other than chicken or beef with tomato and cucumber to eat was motivation enough to get him through the work. The family had a chicken coop as well, and Edward and Oswald would take turns keeping a watch over the chickens while they fed on the lawn. It was usually Oswald who ushered them back in at the end of the day, since Edward seemed quite pitiful at the task.

Oswald didn’t eat nearly as much of their frozen meat as Edward had expected him to, but Oswald, he noticed, had begun dragging each infected they killed into the tools shed and wouldn’t emerge for at least an hour. Sometimes several. Curious a man though Edward was, he wasn’t eager to find out what Oswald was doing in there. He didn’t ask. He tried not to think about the blood smudged on Oswald’s lips, either.

There were some cows grazing in the fields. Neither of them knew how to maintain cows, so they didn’t do anything but fill their water troths when necessary. At some point they would need to learn how to milk them, which wasn’t something either of them were looking forward to.

“What do you do with cows during winter?” asked Edward. “What do we feed them? They won’t be able to eat the grass.”

Oswald offered a shrug in response.

At least the chickens were pretty straight forward.

There were plenty of books in the house that covered farm maintenance. How to look after animals, how to prepare the ground for planting, how to best harvest your crops. Most of them assumed you knew the basics, however, so they ended up cobbling together knowledge from various books in order to make up for their lack of experience. The end result was an adequately run farm, and where farming was concerned, ‘adequate’ was enough for them. They were content.

And yet, after a month of living on the farm, watching the last signs of autumn start to fade into winter, they still hadn’t figured out how they were going to feed the cows. They’d come up with two courses of action thus far: shove them in the barn and hope there was enough feed available to get them through winter, or hope they would be able to find grass among the snow. They didn’t have a great deal of confidence in either plan.

When the snow finally started to fall, Oswald ushered half the cows into the shed and left the rest to graze as an experiment.

“Trial and error,” he told Edward. 

“What happens if half of them die?”

“Then we’ll have more meat for the freezer.”

Edward couldn’t argue with that.

They developed a routine of sorts. Every morning, they would have breakfast together – or Oswald would sit and watch him eat, in any case - and then check on the chickens and cows, followed by Oswald circling the fence to see if there were any infected on the horizon. After that they would feed and water the animals and collect the eggs while the chickens were busy eating (they’d quickly and painfully learned not to bother the chickens while on their nests). Then came lunch, more chores – cleaning, gardening, collecting milk, attempting to make cheese, followed by dinner. They played chess on occasion, and Edward was always turning on the radio to see if anyone was broadcasting. So far they’d only received a smattering of messages. One channel played violin music for an hour a day, while another spoke of a settlement in the depths of Gotham that was safe and prosperous, that neither he nor Oswald had any interest in pursuing. They were quite happy on their own.

But they weren’t on their own for long.

They hadn’t expected infected to be the _only_ beings to come upon their farm, of course; they just hadn’t anticipated the arrival of more than one person. Edward went outside one evening to find four people standing outside their gate. One woman, their daughter, and two men, all of them disheveled and scared. Only the woman was armed, holding a pistol against her thigh.

He heard the door open and Oswald start to emerge and quickly turned around, shouting. “Stay inside, Oswald! We have guests.”

Guests that would probably shoot Oswald upon seeing him.

When he turned back around, the small collection of people had stepped closer to the gate. They were murmuring to each other, casting Edward curious looks.

It was only when he reached the gate that one of them spoke _to_ him.

“Excuse me,” began the eldest of the men, curling a hand around the bars of their gate. He had shaggy blonde hair and a trimmed beard. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my family and I had our home overrun by infected recently and we need somewhere to stay. We did have a larger group to begin with, but they… well, you know how it goes: someone goes out to gather supplies and gets bitten, then hides it from everyone else out of fear and everything goes to hell from there. We’re in desperate need of somewhere safe to stay.”

“That’s enough, Jake. They don’t need to hear our sob story,” said the woman, evidently his wife. She had a curtain of strawberry blonde hair and her face was worn and lined, the face of an overworked mother. “You’ll want something in exchange for helping us, right? That’s how things are these days.”

“We don’t have anything,” said Jake.

“You have a gun,” pointed out Edward, though he had no intention of taking it from them. He just wanted to them know he was aware of it, in case they thought they could shoot him and take the farm for themselves. In these uncertain times, it paid to be cautious. “Not much of a gun, mind,” he continued, pulling on the strap of his shotgun, letting it drop into his hands. A warning. “Is that the only weapon you have between you?”

“So far, it’s all we’ve needed,” said the woman, eyeing the shotgun wearily. “Got us out of harm’s way alright.”

“It can’t protect us from the elements, and we only have so much ammo,” said the younger man, perhaps the uncle or a friend. It was hard to say; he only shared their blue eyes, and that wasn’t an uncommon eye colour for people to have. His hair was short, black, and combed to one side, slightly neater than the hair of his companions.

Edward smiled pleasantly. Though they hadn’t yet offered anything of value, he’d already made up his mind: he was going to let them stay. He’d no intention to turning away other survivors when the human population had already suffered so many grievous losses. “Question: do any of you know how to run a farm?”

The family exchanged glances. None of them spoke up. The daughter, however, murmured, “We grew beans in school. Does that count?”

Edward laughed, much to the girls embarrassment. “Not really, no,” he said, sounding faintly amused. “But we can find some use for you, I’m sure.” He reached for the chain and padlock. At this time of day, the padlock wasn’t even locked; it was just there for show. 

“How many people live here?” asked the wife.

“Two,” answered Edward. He didn’t pull the gate open straight away, casing their gun a cautious look. “I’m going to need you to give me your gun before I let you in. Can’t risk you shooting me when my back is turned.”

“You already had your back turned once and we didn’t shoot you,” said the little girl.

“You can never be too careful."

It was with great reluctance that the woman passed the gun through the bars. After making sure the safety was on, Edward dropped it into a coat pocket. “Now, what are your names?”

“I already mentioned my husband, Jake,” said the woman, gesturing to her husband while Edward worked on pulling the gates open. Quite a difficult feat with so much dirt beneath them. They hadn’t been properly installed. But, to be fair, it was the first time he and Oswald had ever installed a gate. “And I’m Rowena.”

“Martin,” said the remaining man. 

The daughter was last to introduce herself. “I’m Max.”

“Isn’t that a boy’s name?” 

“No. I’m a girl, so it’s a girl’s name," she said firmly.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, chuckling.

The family ambled in and helped him close the gate. He instructed them to wait on the lawn while he retrieved Oswald. Upon reaching the doormat, Oswald arms emerged from behind the door and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, pulling him inside. He came so close to tripping that he had to steady himself on the wall.

“Oswald, what’s-?”

“What’s wrong? That’s what you’re going to ask, yes?” Oswald paced back and forth, his expression taut with anxiety. “You don’t know these people and you just let them inside!”

“They’d die out there,” he argued.

“You never had a problem with death before!”

“That was before there was an overabundance of it.”

Oswald threw up his arms, exasperated. “What if they kill us while we’re sleeping? Will you have a problem with it _then_?”

Edward forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t want to get annoyed with Oswald. That would achieve nothing. “I’m a wary as you about this arrangement, but having them here benefits us. It takes us days to do tasks that a group of people would complete within hours. We need the extra hands.”

“We don’t need them _that_ badly!”

“Please, Oswald, just trust my judgement.” He approached Oswald, head bowed, imploring. “When have I ever led us wrong?”

Oswald pressed his lips into a thin line, before scowling and turning away. “If you insist, I’ll give them a chance. But if they don’t pull their weight or I suspect them of double crossing us…”

“Then I will trust _your_ judgement.”

Edward was sure the family could hear their argument from the lawn. In fact, he hoped they could. It would reassure them Oswald had all his faculties and impress upon them the knowledge he and Oswald wouldn’t go down without a fight in the case of betrayal.

He slid an arm around Oswald’s shoulders and Edward could feel the tension radiating through him. “Shall we introduce you, then?”

“Hang on, let me just..." Oswald lifted his gun from his waistband, checked that the safety was off, then returned it to its original position. "Alright, let’s get it over with.”

Side by side, they exited the house and descended the steps, crossing the lawn to greet the waiting family. To their credit, they managed to restrain their surprise at seeing Oswald to tensing and reaching for each other.

“He’s infected,” observed Jake, whose arms were now folded over his wife’s shoulders like a barrier.

Martin had pushed Max behind his legs.

“I’m well aware of that,” said Oswald, his voice dry. “I’m also in control of myself, as you may have noticed. As I haven’t turned into a cannibalistic monster after a month, I think it’s safe to say that won’t be happening anytime soon.”

“Lasting a month? That’s unheard of!” spluttered Rowena. Her tone then turned hopeful. “You don't have some sort of _immunity_ , do you?”

“No. He's cognizant because I treated him,” said Edward. Their startled expressions gave him a flourish of pride.

Rowena resumed spluttering. “Listen, I work – worked, I mean. I worked at the Institute for Molecular Sciences, and if we weren’t able to find a cure, _you_ shouldn’t have been able to.”

“Well, it’s…” Edward smile descended into a frown. “It’s not really a cure. It just stops the progression of the infection, which I achieved by isolating the components that enabled the first carrier to withstand its influence.”

“You had access to the first infected person’s blood?” asked Rowena, her dismay making way for awe.

“Oh, no, I had access to the initial carrier’s blood. They sent that out to a few laboratories, I believe? Yours must not have been one of them.”

“What you did was still an incredible feat,” said Rowena. “And by someone so young…”

Edward was having a hard time resisting the urge to preen. He hadn’t been flattered like this… well, ever. Most people thought him too strange to extend compliments.

“Jesus, you must be some kind of genius!” Martin exclaimed.

“Yes, he is,” said Oswald, who seemed no happier despite their acceptance. “He also has things to be doing, and so do you lot if you want to stay here. Consider this your trial period.”

“Any work you put me to, I’m happy to do.” Jake stepped forward, approaching Oswald. Quite brave of him considering he’d been shrinking back just moments earlier. “I’m no farmer, but I have dabbled in gardening.”

“You can come with me, then.” Edward extended his hand to encourage him closer. Misinterpreting the gesture, Jake grasped his hand and gave it a heavy shake. Edward was so startled by this that he stammered on his reply.

“R-right, pleasure to meet you.” He gave one shake in return before returning his hand to his side. “Goodness, I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I? Edward Nygma.”

“Enigma?” inquired the little girl.

“Yes, that’s right," he said, beaming at Max. What a smart little girl. Reminded him of himself as a child. “Quite an observant one, aren’t you?”

A faint dusting of pink rose on her cheeks at Edward’s praise. She hid her face in her hands before replying. “Dad’s always saying stuff like that,” she murmured, grabbing at her father’s trousers. Jake reached down to ruffle her head of strawberry blonde hair.

Oswald made a noise of impatience. “You two seem to be getting along swimmingly,” he said, gesturing to Max and Edward. “So you can work in the garden as well, girl. As for the rest of you,” pale eyes darted between Rowena and Martin. “The chickens need to be returned to their cage, and you-“

Martin pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You can help me check on the cows.”

“But I don’t know anything about cows.”

Oswald’s patience seemed to be wearing thin. “Neither do we, and somehow we still manage." Before Martin could offer a reply, he was hobbling off toward the exit, palm resting on the butt of his gun. It was with visible annoyance that Martin hurried after him.

This left Edward alone with Rowena, Max, and Jake.

He pointed out the chicken coop to Rowena, “Just over there,” and that left him with Max and Jake, both of whom looked more enthused about their assigned task than either of their companions. He didn’t expect it to last once they realized the first thing on the agenda was to build a shelter for the garden out of chilled sheets of metal. Synthetic light would need to be installed into the ceiling, but that could wait until tomorrow. He didn’t want to overwork the little girl, whose nose and cheeks were already turning red from the cold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback I've received thus far! I've made this chapter a nice long one.

Not long after their arrival, the little girl began following Oswald around like a nestling. She would accompany him on his strolls through the yard and ask questions about his ailment, his former life, and Edward, and slowly but surely Oswald went from humouring her to providing genuine answers. It wasn’t long before he had warmed to the little girl, and accepting her made it that much easier to accept the rest of her family. She would follow Edward around on occasion as well, eager to learn more about gardening and chemistry, but they did enough chores together that she usually exhausted her list of questions by the time lunch arrived.

Oswald settled comfortably into the role of ‘leader of the house’. When someone had a problem, or needed reassurance, or wanted a different job, they went to him. It wasn’t as extravagant a position as being mayor, perhaps, but he seemed to enjoy the allusion to his former life. In response to this, Edward fell into the role of his supervisor, offering Oswald counsel whenever it was sought.

Rowena turned out to be invaluable help with laboratory work. She and Edward would spend their evenings researching the infections moleculic structure and exchanging theories. Oswald and Jake would periodically come down to check on them while they did this and linger while they worked, which was convenient for them as Oswald was always willing to be their petri dish.

(Though Edward strongly suspected his compliance had something to do with Oswald being jealous of Edward’s admiration of Rowena.)

They tested each composition on vermin they caught skulking around in the tool shed before using it on Oswald. So far, his feedback had mainly been variations of ‘I don’t feel any different’. The monotony would occasionally be broken up by ‘my extremities aren’t as numb’ and ‘I can think clearer’ and 'the wound on my arm is looking better', which held promise, but they hadn’t yet reached a breakthrough. Reversing the ailment seemed to be a lot harder, if not impossible, than forcing it into stagnation. Edward was starting to wonder if it was even possible.

Every so often Edward would pull Oswald aside for a check-up. He wanted to make sure there was no deterioration of mental faculties or physical state. He didn’t have the medical equipment to be thorough, but he had enough first aid training to glean basic information.

The results were usually positive. While the effects of the injections weren’t immediately obvious, after a few weeks Oswald had improved mobility, a clearer head, and more sensation in his undamaged limbs. All of these improvements could be attributed to increased blood flow. Very sluggish blood flow, but blood flow nonetheless. Though he didn’t mention it, Edward also noticed he was less volatile, less prone to outbursts. It made him more pleasant to be around.

Edward could tell Oswald enjoyed the check-ups. He’d always been overt with his emotions, and now that Edward knew Oswald was in love with him, he couldn’t help but notice how much Oswald enjoyed physical contact with him, even if that physical contact had a practical purpose.  Edward just hoped the desire for contact didn’t have anything to do with Oswald’s craving for fresh meat. You couldn’t get much fresher than a live human.

There wasn’t much fresh meat to speak of on the farm, other than the dead cows they pillaged from their field, and what little they did have wasn’t consumed by Oswald. Pragmatic man that he was, he only ate the undead that stumbled upon the farm. He hadn’t told anyone that was what he was doing with them; Edward had just had the misfortune of peeking in on him while he was chopping apart a recent intruder with a meat cleaver and a carving fork and chewing on the fleshiest parts he could find. It was one of the more disturbing things he’d seen in his life, which was saying something considering he’d worked in forensics.

Despite the fact he subsisted on decomposing corpses much of the time, Oswald seemed to be in reasonably good health. It made Edward wonder what exactly drove the infected to eat meat and if it was truly necessary. But, convenient though it would be, that wasn’t a question he would be answering through experimentation on Oswald. He didn’t want to risk exacerbating Oswald’s condition.

However, as chilly winds and the occasional rainfall transitioned into snow and frost, fewer infected ventured out of the city and the ones that did weren’t enough for Oswald to live on. He became progressively hungrier and less sociable. Most of his time was spent in the shed, picking meat off bones like a vulture. A few times Edward left hunks of cow outside his door at night, and while they were usually gone come morning, Oswald was no less irritable.

Jake approached him after Oswald had snapped at Max to leave him alone. Edward wasn’t at all surprised to see him, and he was preparing to explain why no, they couldn’t make Oswald leave, and everything would be fine, but the first words out of his mouth were, “There’s other farms around here.”

They caught Edward off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s other farms around here. We can grab some livestock and bring it back for your friend.”

“Oh.” He stood from his veranda chair (no one else _ever_ occupied his veranda chair) and cast a thoughtful glance through the main gate, at the ute they had parked on the side of the road all those months ago. “Actually, that’s a fantastic idea. We can use the ute to cart them back here.”

Jake followed his line of sight. “Are you sure that thing’s gonna run? It’s been out in the snow for weeks.”

“Cars like that are designed to continue running in harsh conditions,” he replied while hopping down the veranda steps, heading for the gate. He’d left the keys in the ignition. “If we can’t get it running, we can take it to the barn and thaw it out there.”

“How d’you know that?” asked Jake, following behind.

He reached forward to undo the padlock. “Read it in a book.” A very, very long time ago, because he’d never been one to read books about cars. If he was going to read non-fiction, he preferred to read about science and history.

“You do look like the type.”

Edward pulled the chain free, glancing over his shoulder. “What type might that be?”

“Uh… intellectual.” Carefully chosen words. Edward was sure the first word to come to mind had been ‘nerd’.

“Thank you. That’s the first I’ve been called that, I believe.”

“Really, well. It ought to be said more.”  

Edward’s mouth pulled into a smile. It was nice to have his genius recognized. Far too often it was overlooked.

He spent a moment preening, dragging his palms down his trench coat, before turning to the vehicle.

“I suspect it will be with you here,” as he spoke, he pulled open the car door – grimacing at the chill of the handle – and retrieved the keys from the ignition, warming them in his palms before sticking them back in.

“Want me to push from the back or something?” asked Jake.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” And the hand break was on, anyway. “If you could go inside and retrieve some gloves, guns, a few sheets of tarp, and the knife we use to cut meat that would be exceptionally useful.”

With a nod, Jake left to fulfill Edward’s request. By the time he had returned, Edward had managed to get the car running, though it had taken a few dozen attempts. It was a good thing they’d parked it so close to the fence; it had prevented the car from being buried in snow.  

Jake tossed two bulging sacks into the ute. “Left one has the guns, so you’ll want to be careful when grabbing anything from it.”

“Of course.” He reached over to unlock the passenger door. “Let’s take this for a quick drive before we head out. We need to make sure it won’t break down.”

Jake slid inside, closing and locking the door behind him. They didn’t manage to move more than a couple of inches before rapid knocking on the driver’s door prompted Edward to slam a foot down on the break.

“Going somewhere?”

Oswald peered at them through the glass. His image was distorted by the thick layer of frost that covered it from top to bottom.

Edward quickly rolled his window down. The ice cracked beneath the pressure and slid down the side of the car in great shards. “We’re taking this car for a drive, then we’re going out to see if there’s any livestock we can pilfer. I’d asked you to come along, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to spend that much time in the elements.”

“We already have livestock,” said Oswald, across crossed. “Too much livestock, if you ask me.”

“You say that now, but we’ve already lost four cows since we arrived,” said Edward. “We’re likely to continue losing them as we get deeper into winter. We can’t waste what little we have.”

Oswald gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then at least let me come with you.”

“You can’t. It’s too cold you for.”

“I can wait in the back. You can leave the heater on.”

“I don’t know, Oswald…”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Ed.”

Oswald pulled open the door closest to him, pushing the sacks aside so he could seat himself behind Edward. He didn’t bother with a seatbelt.

“It’ll be handy to have him around,” said Jake, offering Oswald a friendly smile in the rear-view mirror. Oswald didn’t smile back. “I think it goes without saying that he has the best upper body strength of all of us.”

“Then why did you say it?” asked Oswald, looking sour.

Jake was at a loss for words. “Er…”

Hopefully Oswald would be in a better mood after eating.

Releasing the park break, Edward pulled off the footpath and drove down the street. Only a little ways, because he wanted to make sure the engine wouldn’t give out on them before departing in search of livestock.

Oswald and Jake were silent as he drove up and down the street. He considered turning the radio on to ease the tension, but it wasn’t likely there would be anything to listen to. The radio he kept in the house hadn’t received a broadcast in weeks. Not a human one, in any case; the beseeching request that survivors return to the ‘safety of Gotham’ was a recording and didn’t count.

Ed could live without the broadcasts. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have anything else to occupy his time with.

“Well, I think that should do it.” The ute was chugging along just fine. “Jake, your family drove here, didn’t they? Can you remember how far away the next farm was?”

“A few paddocks up,” said Jake. “There’s another one after that – owned by someone I was friends with, actually - but they released all their animals before they vacated.”

“Suppose he thought they’d have a better chance of survival that way?” Edward suspected a good many of them would be dead by now. If not from the elements, then from starvation, predators, or the mass of cars that had fled Gotham following the outbreak.

Jake shrugged. “Beats me. I didn’t run a farm. I just liked living out in the country.”  

“That’s quite a distance for your wife to commute,” said Oswald. He seemed to have settled down enough to indulge Jake in conversation. Probably placated by the thought of a full belly.  

“She only had to do it once a fortnight. She worked for one week, then came home for the next week. Her boss arranged that for us. He was a good man. A very good man.”

By the way Jake was speaking of him, he was also a dead man.

Oswald didn’t look moved. Though, to his credit, he was _trying_ to look moved, his brow pinched in a way that made him appear more constipated than compassionate. “How considerate of him.”

Edward wasn’t fairing much better. “Yes, very considerate.” He cleared his throat, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Have I mentioned that your wife has been invaluable help to me? With her assistance, I feel we have a good chance at developing a cure.”

“Really? That’s – that’s great. That’s fantastic.” Jake beamed. “She mentioned you were testing on Oswald. Do you feel any different, big guy?”

‘Big’ hardly described Oswald, and Oswald – being well aware of this – shot Jake a dirty look. “I have, in fact, but I have no desire to divulge the details to you.”

Edward had to refrain from telling Oswald to ‘play nice’, mostly because he knew that would prompt Oswald to do the exact opposite.

Fortunately, he could see the driveway to a farmhouse up ahead. He flicked his indicator – force of habit – and slowed down in preparation to turn, pretending he didn’t hear Jake snort or see Oswald crack a smile. He parked in the driveway of the house and surveyed the area before exiting the vehicle. Jake and Oswald followed suit, stepping out onto the gravel.

Edward frowned at Oswald. “I thought you were going to stay in the car.”

“I changed my mind.”

“I'd really rather you stay in the car or in the house,” said Edward, reaching into the back for a gun and the knife. “We’ll be walking through the snow. It’s best that you don’t join us.”

Oswald was looking distinctly like a petulant child. “There might be infected out there.”

Jake selected a gun for himself, throwing the strap of a shotgun over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to your friend,” he said, cocking his gun. “I’m a decent shot. Did some shooting when I was a boy.”

Oswald pale eyes darted between them. “While I’m sure that’s true, I would still rather be present in case of an emergency.”

“Oswald…” Edward shut the passenger door, turning to face his friend. “I’ll be fine. If I need you, I’ll call. I’m sure you’ll hear me.”

Those pale eyes continued to move, albeit slower. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“It’s in my pocket.”

“I have mine. Call me if you need help, or come and find me. I’ll be in the house.”

“Alright.”

Edward hoped it didn’t come to that. He was getting tired of Oswald’s protective behaviour and getting into another situation where he needed to be rescued would only worsen it.

However reluctantly, his reassurances were accepted by Oswald, who periodically glanced over his shoulder at Edward as he hobbled toward his destination. Edward only stepped away from the vehicle once Oswald had disappeared into the depths of the house.

“Must be nice to have a friend who cares so much about you,” Jake murmured.

“You would think so.”

He and Jake hopped the fence (something Edward achieved with some difficulty) and traveled through the paddock, heading into a dense evening fog that would make finding livestock something of a feat. Hopefully they weren’t too spread out.

They kept close to each other, scanning what little they could see of their surroundings for hostiles as they moved. It was unlikely any had wandered out this far, but you could never be too careful.

“The family’s car was still in the driveway,” Edward remarked. “The family may have been infected.”

“Or they’re hiding in their house,” replied Jake. “That’s what my family did when this whole hullabaloo began.”

Edward footsteps stuttered. “But Oswald…”

“What’s-?” Jake’s jaw slackened. “Oh! Oh, oh damn. Do you think they’ll try to shoot him-?”

He’d started running before Jake could finish the sentence. As he hurtled back to the fence, almost becoming tangled in the wires as he leapt over it, it was probably the fastest he’d moved in his entire life.

The knife and gun fell out of his hands, his breaths rattled in his throat, and his legs stung from exertion. He didn’t slow down despite the discomfort, jumping up the veranda steps and throwing open the front door, Oswald’s name on his lips.

“Oswald!” But it was quiet, his lungs too deprived of oxygen to achieve an audible volume. Struggling to catch his breath, he ran into each room of the house, surveying them quickly before moving onto the next. When he found nothing but dusty furniture occupying the bottom floor of the house, he sped up the stairs, yanking himself up each step by the banister.

“Oswald!” he shouted again, louder than before. This time he received a response: a loud grunt from down the hallway. It was easy enough to tell which room it came from, as only one room had a light on. Feeling moderately calmer, he approached and stepped inside.

Oswald was sitting on a queen-sized bed with the torso of a body in his lap. There was a steak knife in his hand and a fork in the other and he was – good lord, he was eating chunks of the rotting corpse of a young man, feasting on him like he was a spit roast. The stench and sight was putrid. There was barely anything left on the bones to consume.

Edward stumbled back and into the wall, a gasp catching in his throat.

Oswald stood with a gasp of his own, knife and fork slipping out of his hands as he raised them in a placating gesture. “Ed, I’m – I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.” He began to stammer, his voice fluctuating in volume. “I realize this isn’t a pleasant sight, I just – I needed to eat. I’ve been terribly hungry these past few weeks and…”

Edward closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breaths. This was far from the worst thing he’d ever seen. “It’s alright, Oswald. I was just… surprised, for a moment there.” One more breath, and he strode forward, reaching out to place his hands upon Oswald’s tense shoulders. He wanted Oswald to know he wasn’t scared of him. “That body is – it had to have been decomposing for at least a month. That can’t be a pleasant meal.”

“The state of the meat doesn’t make a great deal of difference,” murmured Oswald, self-consciously wiping his mouth on a sleeve. “But if it worries you, I’ll stop.”

Edward shook his head. “If you need to, you can. I won’t stop you.” Even if it _was_ repulsive.

“I…” Oswald hesitated. “I _would_ rather eat something fresher.” He slid his fingers over Edward’s hand, skin as cold as the snow blanketing the countryside. “Did you find livestock already?”

He shook his head again. “I was worried you’d walked into a house full of survivors. Armed survivors, specifically. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m touched,” said Oswald, and he really did sound touched. He squeezed his hand around Edward’s, and then reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, using it to clean the dark splatter of blood off of mouth and chin. He’d had the forethought to use cutlery this time, so he didn’t have any on his fingers or under his nails.

“Should I leave you here?” asked Edward, pointedly looking at the corpse. There were chunks of flesh missing from its chest and left thigh. Quite an unpleasant sight. He tried not to think about the fact that flesh was currently in Oswald’s stomach.

“No, I’m quite done,” answered Oswald, smiling lopsidedly. He shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket and strode past Edward. “I’ll wait in the car like you initially suggested.”

Edward was relieved to hear that. Regardless of what Oswald told him, it couldn’t be healthy to eat meat that was going blue from decomposition.

They left the corpse where it had fallen, its legs hooked over the bed and its torso on the floorboards.

“There was a cup on the bedside table and a pill under the bed,” observed Edward. “The man committed suicide.”

“And you can tell me when exactly he did, I suppose?”

“I’d say about forty days, thought the weather seems to have slowed the decomposition process.”

“Astute as ever,” said Oswald, smiling.

Jake was waiting by the ute when they returned. Two sheep had been thrown into the back, both bleeding steadily from a mangled hole in their forehead.

“Figured you two were alright when I didn’t hear gunshots,” he told them, and then slapped the calf of one of the sheep. “There’s a cow further up the field, but I can’t carry it on my own.”

Oswald was already eyeing the animals with hunger.

Edward walked up to the fence and bent down to retrieve the knife he’d dropped, tossing it into the back of the ute. “I’ll leave that here for you,” he said, nodding to Oswald. “We’ll be back soon.”

“If you need any help-“

“I’ll phone.”

He and Jake returned to the paddock. He was no more adept at jumping the fence despite having done it twice now and almost fell flat on his face. There were a few animals here and there, wandering around, nosing through the ice for grass, but the longer they walked, the more dead ones they came upon. They ended up carrying a few more sheep to the ute, most of which were corpses, and guiding one cow into climbing into the back via a few precariously situated planks of wood. Once there, Jake shot it in the head like he had the sheep.

By the time they were done, there was enough meat there to keep Oswald happy for at least a few weeks.

* * *

Prior to the outbreak, Martin had been a hairdresser. He was a highly esteemed one at that, having worked with celebrities and models when he wasn’t busy doing shifts at an award-winning salon. He’d even been the host of the first hairdresser convention in Gotham, of which thousands had attended.

Edward hadn’t know the world of hairdressing to be nearly so exciting. Up until leaving university, he’d sat in front of a mirror and cut his own hair, and as a result he’d never quite picked up the habit of going to a hairdresser with any regularity.

However, Oswald _insisted_ he get a haircut when it started to get shaggy enough to cover his eyes. Edward had initially tried to retort that Oswald needed a haircut as well, but truth be told, it didn’t look as though Oswald’s hair had grown an inch since the last time he’d stepped foot in a salon. Either it was a growing at a snail’s pace, or it wasn’t growing at all.

Martin didn’t have any of his equipment with him, having lost it to the outbreak, so he retrieved a comb and scissors from a bedroom drawer and filled a spray bottle with conditioner heavily diluted with water, and that, he told them, would be enough for him to work with.

Later that day, Edward sat down in the middle of the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his neck and draped over his front to catch any falling hair. Oswald watched him from the table. As did Max, kicking her stubby legs back and forth in the seat beside Oswald. She’d gone back to following him around like a duckling now that he had recovered a sociable mood.

“Any reason in particular you’ve decided to watch me receive a haircut?” he asked, eyeing his audience of two.

“Because I’m bored,” was Max’s answer.

“Oh, I’m just looking forward to being able to see your eyes again,” said Oswald.

Edward frowned at him. “It isn’t _that_ thick.”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently? Soon it’ll be long enough to throw down to a prince.”

Max giggled and Edward scoffed, but the edges of his mouth were twisting up despite himself. “And I thought you liked me regardless of what I looked like.”

“I do,” said Oswald smoothly, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table and propping his chin upon his hands. “That doesn’t mean I want you wandering around looking like a neglected sheep.”

“Thank you, Oswald. Very flattering.”

“I say it out of love and concern.”

“And I agree,” said Martin, stepping into the kitchen with his comb and scissors in hand and the water bottle hooked over his forearm. “You look like you came straight from a fuc-“ He clamped his mouth shut when he saw Max at the kitchen table. “Erm, I mean, straight from the soup kitchens.”

Oswald snorted and Edward shot him a glare.

“But I’ve dealt with far worse, don’t you worry,” continued Martin, setting his tools on the kitchen counter and sliding his fingers into Edward’s hair, pulling it back over his scalp. “It’s fluffy more so than thick. Shouldn’t be too hard to get back under control.”

“Don’t cut it too short,” said Edward, because he still wanted to be able to drag a comb through it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you look handsome.” Martin started to snip away small sections of Edward’s curly black tresses. They fell onto the towel, tumbling down into his lap. “I’ve never given an unsatisfactory haircut in my entire life.”

“He cuts my hair too,” chirped Max. “Because mom and dad are cheap.”

“Hey, don’t you talk about your parents like that,” said Martin, waving the scissors at Max in chastisement, prompting her to withdraw with a pout. Under his breath he added, “Even if it’s true.”

“They once got uncle Martin a pack of doilies for his birthday,” continued Max in a conspiratorial whisper, and typical of a child, it was still loud enough for everyone to hear. “That was the only time, though, because he never let them live it down.”

“What’d I just say,” said Martin in faux anger.

Max grinned and ducked behind the tablecloth.

A few more bunches of hair went tumbling down Edward’s front. They were getting larger, he noticed, rather than smaller. Maybe Oswald was right. Maybe his hair had gotten a little long.

“These scissors are kind of awkward to work with,” murmured Martin. He made a few snips at the back, brushing the loose hairs to the floor. “They’re usually a lot smaller.”

“What does that mean?” asked Edward, a slight note of panic in his voice.

“You look fine, Edward, don’t worry,” said Oswald. “And if there _are_ any accidents, Martin can always give you a buzz cut.”

“I really have no desire to see what I look like with a buzz cut.”

“What’s a buzz cut,” asked Max, and Oswald leaned down to murmur an explanation into her ear. She gave a rather comical gasp and covered her mouth with her hands.

“But that’s almost all his hair! You can’t take all his hair!”

“He isn’t going to need a buzz cut,” soothed Martin. He sprayed some of his conditioner and water concoction into Edward’s hair before he resumed cutting. The moisture just made it even curlier. “Just give me a few more minutes and I’ll be done.”

Some more spraying, snipping, and combing later, and Martin had finished his work on Edward’s hair. He retreated upstairs briefly and returned with a mirror, handing it to Edward.

Edward was feeling a little apprehensive as he lifted it level with his face.

A sigh of relief barrelled out of him.

He looked fine, similar to how he had looked with Arkham, just with more curls. His fringe was still long enough to tuck behind an ear. Frankly, despite the style being a little more casual than he was used to, he thought he looked quite nice.

He lowered the mirror to his knees and shunted the towel into his lap, giving his arms a much needed stretch. When he was finished driving the ache out of his bones, he turned to Oswald.

“Well, Oswald, you were the one who wanted me to have a haircut, so what do you think?”

Oswald didn’t blink as he examined Edward, and Edward was reminded immediately that Oswald had romantic inclinations. He licked his lips, feeling a little like he was under a spotlight. He fidgeted his hands beneath the towel.

Part of him was hoping Oswald would compliment him.

“You look _very_ handsome,” said Oswald at last.

He had to duck his head to hide a smile.

* * *

“Mister Ed, can you help me?”

The little girl tugged at the hem of his jacket.

“I wanna play piano, but Mister Oz isn’t here to show me how.”

Edward turned away from the radio he’d been fiddling with, eyebrows raised. This was the first he’d heard of Oswald giving piano lessons. He hadn’t even been aware they _had_ a piano.

“I certainly can. What song was Oswald teaching you?”

“Old MacDonald had a Farm!”

Edward couldn’t restrain a grin. “That’s a good one. But where’s the piano he’s teaching you on?”

“He’s teaching me on my toy.”

“Your toy?”

She nodded vigorously, seemingly excited to introduce Edward to this magnificent toy of hers. She fisted a hand in the sleeve of Edward’s shirt and guided him through the house, into the room she shared with her mother. Sitting on the bed was a child’s version of a glockenspiel. It was small, pink, and its keys all a different colour.

“That’s not a piano,” he told her gently. “It’s a glockenspiel.”

For all she understood him, he might as well have spoken another language.

“It’s a piano,” she told him firmly. “That’s what mom and dad called it when they got it for me. Mister Oz lets me call it a piano too.”

“Very well.” He wasn’t about to get into an argument over semantics with a six year old. “Would you like to continue learning Old MacDonald Had a Farm or something new?”

“Something new!”

She plopped herself down before the instrument, looking expectantly at Edward. It took Edward a moment to realize she was waiting for him to sit down on the ground with her. He slowly dropped to his knees, tucking his feet under his thighs and reaching for one of the mallets.

He’d never much liked children, truth be told, but he could make an exception for children that were respectful and eager to learn.

He gave each key a quick tap with his mallet to familiarize himself with each sound. For a children’s toy, it was quite high quality and quite advance.

“How about the Super Mario Bros theme. You know who Mario is, don’t you?”

“A plumber,” said the girl.

Edward smiled. “That he is. He’s also Nintendo’s iconic mascot, formerly known as ‘Jump man’.”  He gave the highest of the keys a tap. “We’re going to lingering on this end of the instrument quite a bit. But we’ll take it slow so you don’t get lost.”

“Will you draw me a music sheet?” asked Max as he crawled over the glockenspiel, reaching for her paper and pencils. “You can use my colour pencils.”

“Oh, uh… sure.” He accepted the items she offered and got to work. “But timing is _just_ as important as knowing the notes. You won’t be able to do it right with just this alone.” It was going to be a condensed version of the song, mind. There weren’t enough keys to do the entire thing.

Once he was done with his music sheet, he folded it into a tringle, music notes facing them, and set it on the ground like a stand. The little girl bent over to examine it.

“That’s a lot of colours,” she noted with a frown, picking up a mallet for herself.

Ed struck a few keys in sequence for her. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll pick it up.”

She flustered at his compliment, cheeks turning red. “You think I’m smart?”

“You certainly have the genes for it.” He hit the same keys and gestured for her to make her own attempt.

Moving slowly, she copied him and then looked up at him expectantly. “Was that okay?”

“Perfect.”

Edward couldn’t say he was surprised when she’d mastered most of the tune within ten minutes. Incredible memory recall for a child. Every so often he would lean over her, guiding her hand, and it was incredibly gratifying to observe her become more and more adept at playing the song. Within the next hour she might even be ready to play it for her parents.

While going through the latter half of the song, she had to stop to cough into her hand. A loud, haggard cough. Edward quickly pulled a box of tissues off the coffee table and dropped them in front of her.

“Thank you.” She wiped her spittle off on a handful of tissue. “Mom made me my special juice. Could you get it from the fridge?”

“You special juice?”

“It helps with my lungs.” She shrugged a shoulder, idly tapping at the glockenspiel. “I have something called Cystic fibrosis. I’ve had it ever since I was little.” She sighed. “It’s always worse around winter. That’s why mom doesn’t let me play in the snow.”

“Oh.” He’d thought Rowena was just being overprotective. Planting his hands flat on the ground, he pushed himself upright to retrieve her ‘special juice’. “I’ll be back shortly, then. And I’ll grab you some biscuits while I’m in there.”

“The kind without cream, please!”

“Of course.”

He glanced furtively at the girl as he left the room. She continued playing the Mario theme, unperturbed by her illness.

Martin and Rowena were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and discussing the state of the farm. He walked past them and to the refrigerator. The jug of green liquid was the only thing he periodically saw Rowena feeding Max, so that was what he grabbed.

“Is this Max’s ‘special juice’?” he asked, turning to Rowena. He knew it was, of course, but this was an opportunity to find out more about Max’s condition.

Rowena jerked her head around to face him. “Why? Did she ask for it?”

“After a short coughing fit.” Edward shut the fridge and approached the table, intending to grab a few cookies from the jar sitting between Rowena and Martin. “She mentioned she had Cystic fibrosis. When did you find that out?”

“We discovered she had it when she was born, through the heel-prick test,” replied Rowena. “It isn’t as severe in her as I’ve seen it in others, so it's usually hard to tell, but we still have to give her supplements and antibiotics and the like.”

“Poor lil’ darling,” said Martin, shaking his head. “She’s too young to be worrying about her health! Way too young!”

“It’s fortunate we had the forethought to bring her medication with us.” Rowena leaned her chin on a hand, mouth pulled into a frown. “We’ll need to restock eventually. Her prescription usually only lasts a little over a month, and we've had to stretch this for several.”

“Your house isn’t far from here, I assume?” asked Edward. He reached into the biscuit jar and retrieved a few of the chocolate chip ones. He liked to have those with his coffee, but he was willing to forgo them for the little girl.

She nodded her head, and then shook it. “But we already grabbed all of it. She can manage without them, for the most part, but I’d rather she took them during winter. She's very prone to getting bronchitis.”

“I see.” His mind was already suggesting places they could go to fill her prescription. “Then a trip into Gotham is due.”

Rowena hesitated. “Well I'm... I'm not about to say no. Thank you, Ed. I’ll come too, of course.”

“Fuck no, you won’t!” exclaimed Martin. “You’ve got a little girl to look after. _I’ll_ go.”

“Are you sure? It’s gotta be hell down there, and you know you aren’t as good with a gun as me or Jake.”

“Hey, c’mon, gimme some credit. I’ll manage.”

“’You’ll manage’, hm? That’s the best reassurance you can come up with?”

“Oh, come off it.”

The two exchanged a friendly smile before Martin stood and approached the sink, setting his empty teacup inside. “We’ll have Oswald with us anyway, won’t we Ed? And he doesn’t even need a gun to fight off the infected.”

“He’ll want to accompany us, yes.” Edward intended to ask him over dinner, though he knew Oswald would have gone with them either way. Asking him while they were all at the table together had the secondary purpose of establishing his role as a protector. His presence had been so scarce lately it would do the family some good to know Oswald cared about their well-being.

Edward took a plastic cup from the sink, shaking out any lingering droplets before filling it with the strange, green concoction in the jug. He then returned the jug to the fridge.

“Will this be enough juice for her?” he tipped the cup toward Rowena.

Rowena leaned over and squinted. “That’s fine. She’ll need to wait until tomorrow to have more, though, so don’t let her convince you to give her a refill.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He started for the door. “And Martin, we’ll go in three days. That should give us ample time to prepare.”

“Sounds good,” replied Martin.

Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor and tapping her knees with her mallet when he returned. He sat down beside her, pressing the cookies into her free hand. “Here you are, and,” he gently pulled the mallet free of her fist, replacing it with the plastic cup. “Your special juice.”

* * *

“I didn’t know you’d begun giving Max ‘piano’ lessons,” said Edward.

Oswald chuckled and dropped a handful of chicken eggs into their collection basket. “I mentioned that I could play and she was quite persistent about asking for lessons. I decided to indulge her, though I can’t say I have any experience with a glockenspiel.”

“You did well.” Edward leaned against the door of the pen, watching Oswald work. “She followed my instructions with ease.”

“She asked a lesson of you, did she?”

“Just one, while you were busy.”

“What did you teach her?”

“The Mario Bros theme.”

There was a pause, during which Oswald gave him a bewildered look.

“It’s the main theme of a video game,” he went on to explain. “Arguably the most popular video game in the word, in fact. Well, after pac-man and other such games, of course, but I’d say Mario has more marketing power.”

“That’s… that’s very interesting,” said Oswald, unconvincingly.

“They promote cognitive skills, reasoning, memory, and perception. Video games have more to offer than just entertainment.”

“Ah,” was Oswald’s non-committal reply.

Edward took that as his cue to continue speaking. “Perhaps while we’re in town, we could bring back a console. I’m sure Max would enjoy having something to do that isn’t house work or watching videos.”

“We’ll have to see how dangerous it is to do so.” Oswald stood, dropping a few more eggs into their basket and extending it to Edward. “I could go on my own for such a trip. I don’t want you lingering there more than necessary.”

“Definitely not,” said Edward immediately. He didn’t want to be left worrying about when Oswald would return, _if_ Oswald would return. “I’ll stay by your side.”

Oswald sent him a toothy smile. “Well, I’m not about to argue. I have no desire to worry you unnecessarily.”

Edward finally took the basket and peeked inside. Eight eggs. Not bad, but not great. They would need to think about hatching some more chickens to make up for the few they’d roasted.

They both ducked out of the pen and approached the veranda, where they sat on the steps, the basket in Edward’s lap. From their vantage point they could see Martin carrying a log across their front yard, an axe balanced on top. They would probably run out of fire wood before the end of winter. Edward wasn’t looking forward to the chilly nights that awaited them. They were bad enough even _with_ the fire.

His breath misted as he exhaled. “We should grab some things to burn while we’re in town. The trees here will be too wet.”

“We’ll take the limo, then,” said Oswald.

“Brilliant idea.” Edward closed his eyes briefly, and then forced them open. He hadn’t slept well last night, kept up by thinking about their upcoming outing. “Rowena packed us some food to take tomorrow. There’s a roast in there. Cooked.” He drooped against Oswald, leaning into his shoulder. He’d gotten so used to Oswald’s body temperature that it didn’t much bother him anymore. It would come in handy when summer finally arrived. “Will that suffice?” he asked in a mumble.

“Mhm.” Oswald slid one of his arms to the small of Edward’s back and drew him closer. “Do you want to lie down for a few hours? I’ll finish up the chores on my own.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine in a minute.” He shifted his head slightly, chin descending to Oswald’s shoulder. His eyes feel shut again against his volition.

He felt cool fingers raise to his scalp, sliding easily through his thick brown hair. He wasn’t usually the sort of person to enjoy physical contact; he initiated it so rarely for that reason, but the sensation of having his hair stroked was a pleasant one.

There was a small stretch of silence, before the hand in his hair brushed it to one side, returning it to its original appearance.

“Get some sleep,” murmured Oswald, speaking into his ear. He felt Oswald’s cheek brush against his forehead as the man stood, leaving to check the perimeter of their settlement.

Edward slowly peeled open his eyes to watch Oswald’s back recede beyond view.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this chapter. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

They left for Gotham city two days later. He and Oswald sat in the back with a map of Gotham spread out on their thighs, providing Martin with instructions whenever Martin came upon a location he didn’t recognize. For the most part, Martin didn’t need their help. He had been born in Gotham and he knew the city well. But he hadn’t explored the entire city, massive as it was, and occasionally he would need the name of surrounding roads or buildings in order to orientate himself.

Whenever they looked out the windows, a few infected would be lumbering about, drawn out by the noise of a moving vehicle. Some attempted to pursue, but none managed to reach the limo in time to prevent them from advancing on their destination.

Strangely, the infected became few and far between the further into the city they went. There had been crowds of them during the first few hours of their journey, and now there was only a scattering. A few of them were noticeably injured. Limbs hanging off, blood caked around their chests and faces, like someone had tried to shoot them in the forehead and missed. It was a promising sign. It meant there were still people alive in the city.

Perhaps they were the same people who had broadcasted about a safe settlement deep within Gotham. If they came upon them, they might be able to trade supplies. Assuming they had supplies by that point. So far they hadn’t stopped. They were making a bee-line for the pharmacy Edward had marked on the map.

The city was vast enough that it was moving into early evening before they arrived at the pharmacy. Oswald was first to hop out, scanning the area for infected and killing any that looked likely to wander upon their location. He and Martin exited the limo next. It didn’t take them long to find what Max needed. Rowena had written them a lengthy list of the main brands and all the acceptable alternatives she could think of.

After depositing the medicine into the back seat of the limousine, they broke into the adjacent coffee shop and smashed every chair in their vicinity, carrying the wood back to the vehicle. They did this to the store across the road as well, and then another one a little further down the street, until they had so much wood that there was barely enough room left for Edward and Oswald to sit.

The last place they intended to stop was a grocery store. Any one would do. There was enough room in the freezer to carry a sizable amount of meat, cans, and pasta.

They weren’t far down the street when Martin abruptly slammed down on the break. He and Oswald almost tumbled out of their seats, stopped only by the mass of wood stacked up around them. “Shit, d’you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Oswald, swiveling his gaze to the window.

Edward rolled it down, straining to listen to whatever had caught Martin’s attention.

There was the faint sound of crying in the distance. Low and warbling, clearly the crying of a young woman. Martin cut the ignition and exited his seat before they could respond, and he and Oswald quickly hopped out after him, abandoning the limo in favor of following their companion. This was in no small part because Martin had the keys, and without the keys, there was no way they would be able to get back to the farm. Edward didn't think he'd be able to hot wire a limousine.

“Wait, slow down,” demanded Edward in a hiss, eyes darting around in search of infected. To his surprise, there didn’t seem to be any nearby. The street was barren.

Martin slowed as he approached the source of the weeping, enabling him and Oswald to catch up. It was coming from a church, he realized, peering up at the cross adorning the roof of the building. It was a marvel of architecture, an imposing edifice, constructed of cinder blocks and painted a modest taupe, and Edward felt odd as he stepped inside after Martin, like he had no right to be there. And considering his history of murder and manipulation, he supposed that was true.

As he reached Martin, Edward opened his mouth to chastise him. He didn’t managed to utter a word before he was rendered silent by their surroundings.

Dead bodies, at least thirty, sitting in the pews with plastic cups scattered across the floor, fallen from lax hands. It was obvious enough that this was the result of a mass suicide.

A small, shivering figure sat at the far end of the hall, a plastic cup clutched in her shaking hands. The only one too absent of faith to ascend to their fictitious heaven.

Martin was the first to reach her, dropping to his hunches at her side and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The sobbing ceased. She looked up at them and her wide, green eyes were clear. There were no tear tracks, no sign that she had been crying at all.

Edward’s heart leapt into his throat. He turned to grab Oswald, to pull him to safety, and discovered Oswald in a crumpled heap on the ground.

“Oswald!” he cried, reaching for him. Strong hands grabbed him from behind, twisting into his dress shirt and pulling at his collar, preventing him from reaching Oswald, and all the people in the pews were suddenly standing and grinning and a few of them were pointing guns at Oswald. He continued to struggle as a sack was pulled over his head and secured with rope. He kicked, flailed his arms, twisted his torso, but his efforts were useless; his captors had numbers on their side.

They soon grew tired of his struggling and stuck him hard across the back of the head, hard enough that he felt blood bloom to the surface, slicking up his hair and scalp and soaking into the collar of his shirt. His vision flashed white. Overcome with disorientation, he fell still long enough to be thrown over someone’s shoulder.

Rope was twisted tight around his wrists and ankles. From somewhere behind him, Martin cried out and tried to run. His rapid footsteps were followed by the heavy thump of someone leaping upon him. He didn’t make it.

They were outside before Edward recovered enough his bearings to make a meager effort to escape. Kicked his feet, tried to twist out of the arm wrapped around his waist.

“Get him to stop moving, would you?”

“Okay, gimme a sec.”

He heard the hiss of an approaching object and was powerless to avoid it. It struck him hard between the temples, producing a shock of pain that brought tears to his eyes. The beginnings of a headache throbbed through his skull and beneath the sack, he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, nausea surging through him.

His heart raced.

If he vomited, he would probably choke on it. There wasn’t enough room in the sack to accommodate anything more than his head. He would die choking on the remnants of his breakfast.

He grit his teeth. It made the pounding in his head worse but he didn’t care. It quelled the urge to vomit and that was more important right now.

A door creaked open and he was carried through it, into the frigid winter air. They walked exactly twelve steps before he was thrown into the back of a vehicle, next to the motionless body of –

“Oswald?” he whispered, throwing his legs over Oswald’s lap, trying to maneuver his companion into his chest.

He felt Oswald’s breath on his arm and dropped his head to Oswald’s hair in relief. They hadn’t killed him. He was okay.

Martin’s body was thrown in next, almost slamming him into the wall with its weight. He, too, was unconscious, and Edward knew immediately he’d been struck across the head too because there was tacky liquid on his neck. He managed to grab Martin by the shirt and ease him to the ground, careful not to jostle him too much, least he make the concussion he’d inevitably have worse. His hands and ankles were bound just like Edward’s were. Edward considered trying to undo them, but he wasn’t going to be much help until he woke up, and even then the concussion might hinder his attempts to untie Edward’s own bindings.

The vehicle started moving. He was thrown to the ground by gravity, Oswald falling atop of him. An ache quickly started to develop in the arm Oswald was lying upon. He managed to roll out from under his friend with some difficulty, and used the altered center of gravity to roll toward the door. If he was lucky, he’d discover they hadn’t thought to lock it from the outside. He could probably roll himself, Martin and Oswald out once it was safe to do so.

He used his knees to push himself across the floor of the truck. With no way to discern the length of the vehicle he ended up striking his head on the door. Pain reverberated through his skull. Curling into the foetal position, he moaned and withered until it had subsided enough for him to resume his task.

He felt around slowly, trying to construct a picture of the door in his minds eye. He managed to get a hold of a latch after a brief search, but there were two latches, both of them separated by a significant breadth, and they needed to be pulled up simultaneously. He couldn’t reach both of them with his hands bound like they were.

If he wanted to get that door open, he needed help. He wasn’t going to bother trying to rouse Oswald; he’d been chemically subdued, Edward could tell. It was the only possible explanation for why he hadn’t fought off their assailants.

That left Martin.

He felt his way over to Martin. The truck jostled him about as he moved. A particularly sharp turn almost had him slamming into the side, but he threw himself down quick enough to avoid the impact. By the time he reached Martin, his elbows and knees were throbbing.

He curled a fist into Martin’s sodden shirt, giving him a shake. Martin didn’t stir. Licking the salt off his lips, he reached up with clammy hands to check Martin’s pulse, digging sweaty fingers into the junction of his neck.

It'd been reduced to a faint thrumming, but it was there.

Feeling reassured, he shook Martin again.  “Wake up,” he whispered, voice muffled by the thick material of the sack tied around his head. “Martin, I need you to help me.”

No response, and he was beginning to get desperate. The truck was slowing down. Wherever they were going, they weren’t far away.

He rolled on top of Martin, straddling him. “Wake up,” he said again, this time accentuating his demand with a light slap to Martin’s cheek.

Martin gasped and withered his way back into consciousness, throwing himself upright so suddenly that Edward fell off of him and landed hard on a shoulder. He groaned. That was definitely going to bruise.

“E-Edward?” stuttered Martin.

His breaths were coming out hard and fast and Edward feared he would fall unconscious again if it continued. “Calm down,” he said, sidling up to him. “You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing like that.”

“Sorry, I just…” He gradually began to resume a normal breathing pattern, though Edward could tell it was a conscious effort by how tremulous it was. “Fuck, my head feels awful. How long was I out?”

“I couldn’t say. I haven’t been counting the seconds.”

Martin shifted restlessly in place, and Edward could tell he was trying to pull his arms under his buttocks so he could bring his hands to his front. “Damn it, this always seemed so easy in the movies.” He conceded defeat, dropping his hands back to the floor. “How’d you get yours free?”

“They tied them this way.”

“What, why?”

In all likelihood, it was because Edward possessed a great deal less physical strength than Martin, but he wasn’t going to say that. It wasn’t the sort of thing one liked to admit to themselves.

“I suppose it was easier to tie them in front since that’s where they were when I was being carried.”

“Oh.” He heard Martin swallow. “I’m real dizzy. Could you get this sack off of me? It’s making it real fuckin’ hard to breathe.”

That was a worrying remark. “I’ll try.” He lifted his hands to the rope around Martin’s neck and felt around for the knot. It’d been tied at his nape. There was so little circulation in his hands that he found it ridiculously hard to get a grip on the rope, and it must have been five, maybe ten minutes before he yanked the sack up and threw it aside.

He briefly tried to reach behind him to loosen his own knot and found it just out of reach. With how tight it was around his neck, and how much tighter it would be if he tried to pull the knot to his front, he couldn’t risk moving it closer to his hands.

But at least Martin could breathe properly now. They were one step closer to testing those doors.

“I need you to move to the back of the truck,” he told Martin, releasing him and journeying his way across the metal floor. He reached the latch, curled his fingers around it. “The truck’s slowing down. We might be able to jump out if we can get these doors open.”

“What about Oswald?”

“I’ll grab him before we go.”

Martin moved painstakingly slow. Edward knew it was due to the concussion, but he couldn’t help but feel impatient.

The vehicle rolled to a stop as Martin dragged himself up the door, searching for the latch, and a fine sweat began to develop on Edward’s temple when the engine cut. They had a matter of seconds before their window of opportunity was gone.

“Do you have the latch yet?”

“Yeah, just- gimme a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute!”

The car doors creaked open and it was too late; their opportunity was gone. Even if they managed to open the doors, they weren’t going to be able to run more than a couple of feet before they were subdued.

“Never mind! Back on the ground!” Edward didn’t fancy either of them being struck again.

He returned to Oswald’s side just in time to hear a clatter of metal – a padlock being removed? – and the squeal of the doors being pulled open. Light flooded into the vehicle, breaching the thick fabric encasing Edward’s head.

“Now, how’d you get this off?” asked one of their assailants. He heard the drag of fabric and knew he had Martin’s sack in hand. “Got a little busy while I was driving, huh?”

Edward said nothing, not wishing to bring attention to himself. Martin was silent as well, perhaps too frightened to speak.

“Not feeling talkative? That’s fine by me.”

A beat.

“Jenna, grab a few of the guys to carry the big one, and get someone to run down to the boss and let him know we’ll be up shortly. I’ll take the bean pole.”

Edward made an attempt to scramble away from the hands that reached for him and slipped on the smooth metal, enabling the man to grab him by the calf and heft him easily over his shoulder, like he had before. He proceeded to carry him as though he had all the weight of a couple of grapes. It was a little embarrassing, to be honest.

He tried hitting the man in the back and was rewarded with a hard slap to his thighs, eliciting a yelp.

“Do that again and I’ll hit you back.”

He decided, then, that it was in his best interest to keep his hands to himself.

They ascended some steps, entered a doorway. The crunch of gravel underfoot turned into the tap of dress shoes on linoleum. There were other people in the building with them. Multiple people, perhaps hundreds, because their voices were a chorus of indistinguishable chatter.

They passed through another doorway and then he was deposited unceremoniously into a chair. Finally, the sack was removed. He flinched against the onslaught of artificial light but forced his eyes to remain open, turning in his seat, trying to take in as much of the room as possible.

It was a dining room. Much like Oswald’s own dining room, it was vast and lavish, containing laminate stone flooring in shades of black and rich red walls with white trimming, and high above them, hanging from a white ceiling, was a chandelier. The table he sat at was similarly high-end, a cherry red wood with a glossy finish.

“Edward Nygma, isn’t it?”

He jerked his head around to face the source of the voice.

It was a man he recognized. A curly-haired man with a mustache and a top hat, sitting casually at the head of the table.

Jervis Tetch, Alice Tetch’s sister, the one inadvertently responsible for this mess and definitely responsible for Edward’s current predicament.

He glowered.

“And you’re the man who speaks in rhymes.” He wasn’t much fond of rhymes, especially not right now. “Where are my companions?”

“One of them is just about to arrive.” Tetch gestured to the door. Just as he had said, Martin was being shoved past the threshold, hopping along on bound feet. With how ridiculous he looked, Edward was almost grateful to have been carried.

He was forced to sit down across from Edward.

“There you go. Make yourself comfortable! The former mayor won’t be joining us for at least a few more minutes.”

“Where is he?” asked Edward.

Jervis picked up a teapot and refilled his cup before replying, prolonging the moment. “Oh, don’t you fret, I need him alive to fulfill his debt.” He set the teapot aside, adding a few drops of milk to his tea. “Or as alive as he can be in the state he’s in.”

“His debt?”

Tetch arched a thin eyebrow. “Did he not tell you? About the Founders dinner?”

Edward knew Tetch had gate crashed, of course, but Oswald hadn’t spoken of that night. He hadn’t been aware Oswald and Tetch had ever interacted. “I…” He hesitated. “I might need a refresher.”

“Oh my, he didn’t, did he! How curious.” Tetch brought his teacup to his mouth and took a sip. There was a teacup sitting in front of Edward as well, but he was too wary to drink whatever was in it.

“I needed him to be among the first infected, you see, along with the rest of Gotham’s elite, and he refused to cooperate.”

“He’s infected now,” he pointed out.

“He’s cognizant.”

“Does that really matter?”

Jervis’ brow furrowed briefly, and then smoothed out. “I suppose not, but it does make things more _fun_. Now everyone will get to see him lose his mind.”

Edward He inhaled sharply, squaring his shoulders. “Well, he’s not really mayor anymore, is he? He’s not among the elite. You can’t have a mayor without a city.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be observant?” Tetch laughed quietly, grinning at Martin as though sharing a private joke. “Where do you think we are?”

Martin, for his part, was completely silent. He didn’t seem to know when to interject, or what to interject with, and he was probably frightened of possible repercussions.

Edward opened his mouth, and then closed it. He wouldn’t call what Tetch had a city, but he wasn’t about to start an argument. “If you’re worried about him usurping you…”

“Not at all. The people here know to whom to bow. But my people see me as a man of my word, and I’ve already made it clear I have no intention of freeing that troublesome bird.” He reached across the table, dumping Edward’s cooling tea onto the floor and refilling it. One of his men immediately dropped to their knees with a dish rag.

“In fact, I don’t free anyone who comes upon my city, so I wouldn’t bank on the chance of any of you being the exception.”

Edward swallowed thickly. “Then why call people here?”

“Entertainment,” he replied simply. “And occasionally I do initiate them into the city. We do need people to do the menial jobs, after all. Cleaning and the like.”

He reached across the table, slapping a hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin nearly leapt out of his seat in surprise. “Martin here will be among those people!”

“And me?” asked Edward quietly, dreading the answer.

Tetch’s tongue flicked out over his brilliant white teeth. “I wouldn’t _dare_ separate the mayor and his beloved chief of staff. It would be terribly cruel.” The double doors leading into the dining room swung open a third, and final time, unveiling a heavily drugged Oswald. A muzzle had been fastened over his mouth, the kind you would use on a dog. Edward’s jaw tightened in disgust.

“It doesn’t look as though he would have lasted much longer anyway,” continued Tetch, pointing to the chair beside Edward. Oswald was dumped into it. “Either way, you would have died by his hand. Or teeth, rather.”

The implications of that comment weren’t lost on Edward. It didn’t take a genius – thought he was one – to figure out he intended to have Oswald kill Edward.

His blood ran cold.

“Listen, Tetch. He’s – he’s cognizant because I created a cure.” That wasn’t a _total_ lie. “If you release us, I’ll give you that cure. I have a vial of it on me for emergencies, but I can provide you with a great deal more than that.”

“I don’t need it,” said Tetch dismissively. He took another lengthy sip of his tea before standing and approaching Edward, sliding a hand beneath his trench coat. When he withdrew, it was with vial Edward had mentioned.

He examined the liquid under the light.

Oswald was currently lying on his own teacup. Had his hands been free, Edward would have pulled him upright.

“ _This_ was what _I wanted_ ,” murmured Tetch. “Everything is how it is meant to be.” He gently placed the vial on the floor, and then proceeded to smash it with a heel. “But I’m glad you brought that to my attention, being that it could lead to dissension. I can now take steps to evade unrest by having my men bring something for Oswald here to digest.”

It was clever that he was managing to do it on the fly, but God… Edward loathed the rhyming.

“I acquired a large variety of substances prior to the Founders Dinner, and I find a few of them bring out the worst in the beasts. Makes them far more enjoyable to watch.”

He nodded to one of his lackeys.

“James, prepare one of the rabbits. Bill, take Edward here to the bench. I’ll be down with Oswald momentarily.”

He managed one last fleeting glance at Oswald before being pulled bodily from his chair, thrown once again over the shoulder of the burly man from the truck. He could see now they were tall, thick, and blonde, with beady black eyes and stubble on their chin. An appropriate look for such a brutish man.

He thought about shouting something, some sort of threat, something to make Tetch pause, but by the time he came up with something they were already out the door and striding swiftly down a hallway. People turned their heads as they passed, some curious, some excited. Normal, everyday people who saw the downfall of society as an opportunity to indulge in bloodshed.

Considering his criminal history, Edward supposed he didn’t have much room to talk.

They stepped outside. The building, he realized, was Aubrey James’ personal lodgings. Though this was the first he’d ever been inside, he recognized the building from the news.

“Put me down,” he told Bill, and then paused and added, “I can walk.” If he was going to die, he wanted to have it happen with some modicum of dignity.

“Not gonna happen.”

“So you won’t even extend me the dignity of allowing me to walk myself to the gallows?”

“You ain’t going to the gallows.”

“It’s a figure of speech!”

He could see this conversation was a lost cause, so he abandoned it in favor of making one last token effort to twist his hands out of his bindings. This was ultimately pointless as the bindings were removed prior to him being thrown into the trunk of a car. It was a very small trunk, not the kind you could enter the back seats through, and he was distantly grateful it wasn’t summer despite the fact he was being driven to his death. The metal was cool enough to soothe his aching head.

This trip was shorter than the earlier drive. The vehicle pulled to a stop after making a total of two turns and he heard doors open, followed by the heavy footfall. The trunk flew up. This time his eyes only needed a moment to adjust to the glare of the sun.

His captors were gracious enough to let him remove himself from the trunk. He brushed down his trench coat, neatened his hair. There was no reason he should look a disheveled mess before his death.

His heart was pounding against his rib cage, but he tried to ignore it. Tried not to be scared, because what good would that do him? He was going to die either way.

“Get moving, bean pole.” One of the men, not the one that had carried him, gave him a hard slap across his back of his head. He knew, then, that he had a concussion, because the pain was so intense that he almost threw up.

As instructed, Edward started to walk, dragging his feet across asphalt. He recognized where they were. The tall, regal form of the courthouse loomed in the distance. He’d been here before, once on jury duty and once on trial, and a few times to offer evidence in support of a case.

What better place to host an execution?

He walked solemnly up the stone steps, flanked by his burly guards. The double doors were already open. He could see a steadily forming crowd inside, encircling a vast, metal cage that looked to have been transferred from the local boxing stadium. He couldn’t imagine how long it had taken to move, and purely for aesthetic sake. Such a _Tetch_ thing to do.

There was already someone sitting inside the ring, huddled against a corner. The floor beneath him was so stained with blood that one could barely make out the white. Edward swallowed, hard, and diverted his gaze, instead examining the exuberant faces of the crowd that had come to observe the kill.

There were fewer than he had expected. Thirty, forty, when it was clear Tetch’s ‘New Gotham’ had residents numbering in the hundreds. He recognized a few of them. Former inmates of Arkham.

Of course they, of all people, would still be alive.

By the time he reached the bench on which he was to sit and wait, his anxiety had started to manifest in the form of dizziness and nausea. Maybe he would pass out and they’d have to throw him in there while he was unconscious. That would be preferable.

He lowered himself to his designated corner of the bench, shoulders trembling. He couldn’t seem to make them stop. These were the last moments of his life, and he was going to spend them scared and helpless, nauseous and in pain. He would have rather died from the infection.

The wait was a short one. Jervis Tetch came striding in with a platoon of men following behind, the front two of which were carrying the prone form of Oswald Cobblepot. The muzzle had been removed, at least. A small dignity. He didn’t want Oswald’s reputation slandered any more than it would be shortly.

“Ladies and gentleman,” bellowed Jervis. He spread his arms high above his head, grinning toothily at the crowd. His lackeys, meanwhile, unlocked the steel door in the side of the cage and thrust Oswald inside, letting him fall bonelessly to the floor. The impact might have hurt had Oswald been conscious enough to feel it.

“I present to you, the former Mayor of Gotham!”

The crowd roared.

Tetch made a skip-jump in the direction of the cage. He held a small heart-shaped perfume bottle in one hand, green liquid sloshing around inside.

“It’s a dog eat dog world these days, ladies and gentlemen, and Mister Cobblepot here is going to demonstrate that for us today!” He dropped to his knees before the cage, reaching through the bars, holding the bottle of perfume over Oswald’s nose. “After we wake him up, that is.”

He sprayed the concoction straight onto Oswald’s face. Almost immediately Oswald’s nose began to wrinkle.

“For anyone curious, we’ve gone for a licorice scent this time. We have to treat our stars on occasion!”

Tetch withdrew his hand just prior to Oswald shooting upright, his eyes wide and unfocused. He made a series of soft grunting sounds, like he was confused, before raising himself up onto wobbling legs. When he noticed the man curled up in the corner of the cage his gaze turned rapt, intense. He didn’t blink. He made a slow lumbering step toward the man and the crowd leaned forward in their seats, anticipation clear on their faces.

Edward closed his eyes. He knew what was going to happen. He didn’t need to watch.

The sound of Oswald’s pursuit echoed off the walls. Heavy breathing and dragging footsteps, both characteristic of the infected. There was a bellow of terror from his target, almost drowned out by the shouts of encouragement from the audience. He heard the wet tear of flesh being stripped from muscle and a scream, and then the disgusting squelch of meat being softened between molars.

Edward opened his eyes, staring down at his knees. The coppery, metallic, pungent smell of freshly spilt blood pervaded his nostrils.

His hands shook in his lap. He tucked them between his thighs, hiding them from view.

“That was just a little warm up,” shouted Tetch. The crowd roared in excitement. “You all know Cobblepot’s Chief of Staff, don’t you? Come up, Edward. It’s your time to shine.”

Edward couldn’t make himself get up. He had to be pulled to his feet and dragged over to Tetch.

“Come on, Ed, give the crowd a little smile.”

Edward wanted to spit out something vitriolic and found that he couldn’t. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, raising his eyes to Tetch instead, glaring at him.

“Close enough.”

The steel door opened and he was thrown inside.

On the other side of the ring, Oswald raised his head to peer at him, blood smeared across his lips and jaw, dripping in messy, gunky rivulets down his chin. His pale eyes gleamed in the light. He was still chewing on his last victim.

_What’s black, white, and red all over? Answer: you’re going to die, you idiot. Move._

Any vestiges of composure he’d had disappeared the moment Oswald began to advance. He turned and grabbed the door, tried to yank it open. It didn’t budge.

On the opposite side of the door, Tetch laughed and waved at him.

“You’re out of options, Ed. Better start running.”

Tetch was right. He could hear Oswald lumbering across the ring, almost upon him. He knew, no matter where he ran, he’d end up cornered eventually, but his self-preservation instinct drove him to move anyway. He ducked under Oswald’s outstretched hands, stumbling as he raced for the opposite side of the cage. Oswald pursued, and he was far faster than Edward. For every one step Edward took he took two leaping ones.

He only managed to get half-way to his destination before Oswald flew into him and sent both of them barrelling to the floor. The impact went jarring through his torso, driving the breath out of his lungs. For a moment, he could feel nothing but the pain in his head and the desperate need for air, and it gave Oswald enough time to crawl on top of him and close his cool hands around his left thigh.

Oswald descended. A sharp pain blossomed on the back of his leg and grew steadily worse, until he was screaming himself ragged and thrashing with the need to escape it. Through glassy eyes he managed to look back at Oswald, at what Oswald had done, and saw a bloody hole in his trousers. He’d bitten so hard that there was a slither of flesh hanging from his bared teeth. Edward shuddered.

“Oswald,” he moaned, twisting himself so he was on his back. Oswald climbed into his lap, fingers twisting beneath his coat, into his shirt, dragging hot red trails into his skin. It was such a hard drag that liquid bloomed to the surface and pooled beneath him. “Oswald, please, _please_ stop-!” He felt Oswald’s mouth close around his shoulder next, hard enough that he was sure he heard bone crack. His shrill scream wasn’t audible over the cheering of the crowd.

Oswald applied another bite lower down his arm and he tried to scream again, but he still hadn’t finished the first one. The pain was too much – too much, and he could feel nothing else in the world but the pain.

“Stop, please oh god, please stop-!” He was babbling now, pleading for mercy from someone who no longer had the capacity to understand.

Oswald moved higher, to his neck, leaving a vivid red trail in his wake. And then he did the last thing Edward had expected.

Oswald kissed him.

With a surge of horror, Edward wondered just how far Jervis had tapped into Oswald’s baser instincts. He grappled at Oswald’s chest, trying to push him off, but Oswald was relentless. He kissed and licked and ran the tip of his nose over Edward’s throat, he bit into the sharp edge of a collarbone, dragged his nails down his sides until skin split, and Edward could do nothing but lay there and let it happen.

The crowd wasn’t cheering anymore. It was booing.

By the gasp of disgust Tetch made, he must have shared their sentiment. “Restrain him,” he shouted.

Oswald was struck in the back with a dart, and then another, and it was only after the third that he collapsed upon Edward. Edward’s chin dropped to his clavicle, and he saw his blood splattered across the already thoroughly sullied floor, collecting in great pools beneath his wounds. Any relief he’d felt disappeared at the sight of it.

He was infected. He was still going to die.

The realization was more sombre this time. After coming so close to death, it was easier to accept.

He coiled his arms around Oswald’s prone form and listened to him breathe. The even tempo of his breaths slowly lulled Edward into a state of calm, allowing him to drift away from his surroundings, his pain, his terror.

It was like drowning – strangely peaceful after the initial panic.

He refused to let go of Oswald, even when Tetch’s lackeys came to take them away. They had to carry them together.


	6. Chapter 6

Oswald must have severed a vein, because he continued to bleed well after their scuffle. A chill developed beneath his skin and the tips of his fingers tingled unpleasantly. He tried to stifle the flow with his palms, but they quickly became too slick and slippery to make any difference.

At some point, he must have passed out from exhaustion and hypovolemic shock, because when he regained consciousness he found himself shivering on the mattress of his old Arkham cell. His wounds had been dressed, and he thought perhaps Jervis’ men had done it to prolong his death, but they weren’t dressed in gauze. They were bound tight in strips of sodden fabric.

He reached down to drag his numbed fingers over the makeshift bandages, staining them red. The blood was tacky. He must have been out for a good while. His wounds still hurt, more of a hot throb now than a sharp pain.

“Edward!”

Thin arms closed around him, comfortably familiar. He tilted his head up to smile at his friend.

“Oswald. You’re back.”

“I-I am so sorry,” whispered Oswald, squeezing him gently. He felt Oswald’s cheek against his hair. “I remember vaguely the things I did, and I-I would never willingly hurt you, Edward, I hope you know that. He gave me something and I just... I couldn't…“ Oswald swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Edward was certain Oswald had shed a few tears upon awakening. He was glad he’d been asleep for that. He wouldn’t have known what to say to comfort him.

“I’m okay,” said Edward, though he didn’t think that was even remotely true. “Tired, though.”

“Don’t go back to sleep.” Oswald reached down and picked up one of his hands, threading their fingers. “If you do, you might not – you might not wake up.”

“I won’t sleep, then.”

Edward turned slightly so he was tucked under Oswald’s chin. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you, Os-“ A bellowing cry from the adjacent room sent him jerking into Oswald’s jaw. With a groan – had he bitten his tongue? – Oswald gently eased Edward lower down his chest, out of alignment with his head.

“They do that every so often,” murmured Oswald. Their neighbour continued bellow. He was soon joined by so many other prisoners that it became a chorus. “Tetch is using this place as a prison, I believe.”

Edward could feel a headache coming on. He groaned. “Can we leave? I don’t particularly want to die in an asylum cell to the sound of people screaming.”

Oswald inhaled sharply. “You’re not going to die.”

There was no point in trying to argue, and he was too tired to do so anyway. “Alright, but I don’t want to be in here. I want to go back to the farm.”

Oswald raised his head to glance at the door. “Even with my strength, I don’t think I’d be able to break that down.”

“Vents,” said Edward weakly, pointing a finger in the approximate direction of his last escape route. “They lead outside.”

“Do you have enough strength to move?”

Edward twisted his way out of Oswald’s arms and tried to rise to his feet. His legs felt like those of a fawns, shaky and unreliable. “Well, it’s either that or I expire here, so I think I’ll manage.” He planted a hand on Oswald’s shoulder, using him as leverage as he pulled himself upright. It took such great effort to move that his breathing started to accelerate. He was terribly dizzy. “Let’s- let’s get moving while I’m still capable of it.”

“Of course.” Oswald stood and set his hands on either side of Edward’s waist, steadying him. His hands didn’t feel as cold as they used to. “Will you be able to stand while I move the bed?”

“Yes.” He was weak, but he wasn’t completely helpless.

Oswald’s hands lingered. He seemed hesitant to remove Edward’s last line of support, so Edward gently brushed him away. “Go on, Oswald. I’m not going to fall.” Despite saying this, he was surprised that his knees hadn’t bucked by the time Oswald had finished pulling the bed beneath the vent. The moment Oswald was done, he lowered himself to the mattress with a heavy exhale.

“I’ll go first,” said Oswald, hopping up onto the standard grey prison mattress. He had to bounce a little in order to reach the vent. “Once I’m up, I’ll pull you in.” He glanced down at Edward. “Is that manageable?”

Edward dragged his hands over his face and groaned into his fingers, which probably didn’t inspire confidence. “It’ll feel awful, I’m sure, but I’ll survive.” For now, anyway.

He wasn’t looking forward to having to stretch his shoulder. The wound there was particularly painful.

The mattress squealed and when he looked up, Oswald was already half-way into the vent. “You’ll need to find a junction to turn in,” he told Oswald, because he could hear the vent clatter as Oswald tried to turn around. “You’re too big to do it there.”

The clattering moved further up the vent. Based on how long it had taken Edward to encounter a junction last time he had attempted an escape, Edward expected him to be back within a few minutes.

He took his momentary seclusion to check each of his wounds. The one on his shoulder, the one on his upper arm, and the one on his thigh. There were a few nasty scratch marks on his chest, sides, and thighs, but he disregarded those. They didn’t hurt nearly as badly

The wound on his thigh was largest by far, extending from the crease of his leg to a little above his knee, as though Oswald had torn up the skin. He didn’t know if that was the case, and he couldn’t tell by sticking his pinkie beneath the bandage, but it certainly felt that way. It was a very, very small consolation that he wouldn’t be alive long enough to be bothered by it.

The wound on his shoulder was significantly smaller. From the throbbing, no larger than his palm. Smaller even than the gash Oswald had torn into his upper arm. He tried to peek under the bandages but withdrew with a wince, finding the injuries too sensitive to touch.

He could hear Oswald moving back toward him. Edward brought his feet up onto the mattress, steadying himself on the wall as he raised himself to the vent. It was a good thing he was so tall; he could reach it with ease.

Oswald’s hands closed around his wrists. “For the sake of your comfort, you’ll want to kick off from the bed when I start to pull.”

“Just do it before I collapse.”

He had anticipated the pain, and yet he still cried out when his shoulder wrenched in its socked. More blood beaded to the surface of his skin, soaking into his bandages and sliding down his arm when that became too sodden. His cry petered out once Oswald had him in the vent and he gasped deep, the air chilling his throat on its way to his lungs.

He didn’t realized Oswald was holding his face and whispering to him until the agony had subsided.

“Edward? Edward? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

He blinked rapidly to rid himself of the moisture rimming his eyes. “Yes – I mean, no. No, you didn’t hurt me. Not intentionally. It’s okay.” He gently removed one of Oswald’s hands, giving it a squeeze before he released it. Something to reassure him. “I’ll- I’ll be alright in a minute. Let’s get moving.”

Thankfully, instead of further fretting, Oswald began to shuffle backwards. Edward pulled himself after Oswald, using his good arm to drag himself across the slippy metal.

The journey was a long and arduous one, and Edward breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the exit, pulling himself out onto the cement after Oswald. It was dark outside, but they were fortunate enough to be in a reasonably well-lit area. There were two florescent bulbs next to the fire escape and they illuminated a path down the side of the building.

Now all they had to figure out was how to get from here to a working vehicle, which Edward didn’t expect to be easy. Even injured as he was, he would still be a target to the infected. Maybe even more so now that he was covered in the scent of fresh blood.

He took a few minutes to recover his strength before taking Oswald’s hand and leading him to the fire escape. He’d never been more grateful for handrails as they descended the stairs. They ensured he didn’t end up falling on his ass.

Oswald’s hands hovered over his sides as they walked. Edward thought that unnecessary, but it was a touching enough gesture that he decided not to tell Oswald to stop. It was nice to feel cared for, especially as these were his final moments.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in the staff carpark. Twenty empty spaces and a fence too high to climb. _Brilliant_. Worse yet, it looked like their only way out of the facility was through the entrance. Edward didn’t relish the thought of walking that far. He was already exhausted and in pain.

He slowly slid to the bottom step, ready to concede defeat. This was as good a place as any to expire.

“Let’s just…” He dropped his forehead to his knees. “Let’s just sit here and rest.”

“If we want to reach the farm before the infection takes hold, we need to go _now_ , Edward.”

“Oswald.” He gestured for Oswald to sit down. “I’m infected, and this isn’t like when you were infected. We aren’t prepared at all.”

“We weren’t especially prepared _last_ time either.”

“Last time we had access to chemicals and a laboratory. We had a vehicle. We didn’t have Tetch to worry about, either. Even if we leave and manage to find one, it takes half a day to drive back to the farm. We wouldn’t make it.”

“You’re being pessimistic.” Oswald remained standing, arms crossed. “We’re leaving.”

“Oswald, I just told you-!”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

And that was when Oswald dropped to his hunches and slid an arm beneath Edward’s back and legs, hoisting him up into his arms, carrying him bridal style. Edward was too startled to voice a protest. He instinctively hooked an arm over Oswald’s shoulders, frightened of falling. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but it wasn’t _that_ long ago that neither of them had possessed the upper body strength necessary to carry someone.

Oswald started walking. This jostled Edward into speaking. “What are you _doing_?”

“Carrying you.”

“I figured that much out for myself. _Why_?”

“Because you weren’t moving, and we’re running out to time.”

“We don’t have time, Oswald. Whether you accept it or not, I’m going to become one of the infected.”

The grip on him tightened. He could feel a tremor making its way up Oswald’s arms. Confused, he raised his gaze to Oswald’s face and saw watering eyes and twitching lips. He was trying – very unsuccessfully, mind you – not to start crying, and Edward wasn’t completely heartless; he couldn’t bring himself to force Oswald to accept the inevitable when he was so close to a breakdown.

When Oswald didn’t speak, or couldn’t bring himself to, he decided to break the silence. “Find a car and I’ll hot wire it.”

Oswald’s face slackened in relief. “Will any car do?”

“There aren’t going to be many cars around here, if any. We can’t afford to be picky.” If it was a car he wasn’t familiar with, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out how to get the engine running.

Oswald nodded.

To Edward’s relief, the entrance yard to Arkham was deserted. Not an infected in sight, nor any of Tetch’s lackeys. It was likely Tetch had emptied the place in preparation to use it as a prison for anyone who displeased him.

They reached the exit without incident. After forcing the doors open with a foot, Oswald started to jog down the winding pathway that led up to the Asylum. Edward was familiar enough with the road to know it was a half mile long and ended in an industrial area of the city. They ought to be able to find some vehicles there, assuming Tetch hadn’t taken them all for his own use.

Edward started to drift while Oswald jogged on. If not for the pain in his shoulder, he might have fallen asleep.

It’d been a while since he’d had something to eat or drink and he’d lost at least a liter or two of blood. Maybe Oswald wouldn’t mind stopping to grab a can of something, anything. He just didn’t fancy dying on an empty stomach.

He leaned his face into Oswald’s chest and watched the scenery fly by. The last time he had seen this street, he’d been looking at it from inside Oswald’s limo.

“You’ll-“ A beat. “We’ll need to get the limo back at some point.”

“How do you propose we do that?” asked Oswald. “It’s probably in Tetch’s possession now.”

“It’s definitely in Tetch’s possession. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was driving around in it right this minute.”

Oswald scowled. “He’ll have to remove the wood first.”

“An amusing though, isn’t it? Here’s hoping it was difficult for him.”

The scowl morphed into a reluctant smile. “I fully intend to bring him more difficulty in the future.” His eyes flicked to Edward, and then away. “On my own, of course.”

Oswald was probably expecting him to argue, but he only burrowed deeper into Oswald’s chest. Oswald would give Jervis hell, he was sure of it. He always found a way to achieve his goals. It was his tenacious nature that had drawn Ed to him in the first place. He’d always seemed to have a great deal of experience and knowledge in regards to orchestrating people’s downfall, even when he was at his lowest.

A change of subject was in order, before Oswald decided in inquire after Edward’s silence. “Do you see any cars at the end of the street?”

Oswald squinted. “It’s too dark to tell. Perhaps we should have checked the guard’s office for a torch.”

“Little late to do that now. The streetlamps are sufficient.” He was glad, and a little surprised they were still working. He didn’t expect them to work indefinitely, mind. With no one to address any power outages, they had to give eventually.

At the bottom of the street, Oswald slowly lowered Edward’s legs to the gravel and kept an arm coiled around his back so he wouldn’t fall. With his free hand, he picked up the closest hard object he could find – a broken bottle – and held it at waist level, prepared to stab anyone or anything that got too close.

There didn’t actually seem to be anyone around, though. The streets were as deserted as the courtyard had been.

As they travelled deeper into the industrial section of the city, they soon found out why.

There were dozens of cars stacked upon each other, blocking anyone from either entering or exiting the city, and too precarious to climb. All the important bits had been removed – the wheels, the engine, the seats, and what remained was a carcass that was just light enough to be lifted by a group of men. There was a splatter of dark red on the sidewalk that suggested the process of stacking hadn’t gone as smoothly as Tetch would have liked.

“Let’s go around.” He didn’t want to risk hurting themselves in the same manner.

“I can push through.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than continuing to wander these streets?”

Edward looked at each building on either side of the road. One of them was made completely inaccessible by the cars but the other was a store with a wide glass window.

“We can break that window and pick locks until we reach the other side.”

“We?” Oswald frowned. “Allow me to create a path. You remain here, where it’s safe.”

“I’m not an _invalid_ , Oswald. I can help.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I’d rather you didn’t overexert yourself while in this state.” He guided Edward over to a nearby bench before releasing him, pressing the broken bottle into his open hand. “Don’t fret, my friend; if I need you, I’ll call.”

Before he could voice a protest, Oswald turned away and crossed the road at a run. So fast that even if Edward had spoken, he doubted it would have been intelligible to Oswald.

He observed Oswald vigilantly as Oswald wrapped his jacket around a fist and proceeded to strike the window until it rained down in a million pieces. He got caught in the cloud of glass, and that sent Edward’s heart a-flutter until Oswald cast him a reassuring smile. The glass didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He brushed it out of his hair, off his shoulders, and then proceeded into the building. Edward hoped he wouldn’t have too many cuts when he returned. Those would take a very, very long time to heal, if they healed at all.

Oswald disappeared into the dark depths of the store. It put Edward on edge to have him out of sight. He fidgeted with the glass bottle, tempted to follow him inside. When he heard the sound of snapping wood his frayed nerves drove him to his feet, weapon sliding out of his fingers, and he watched in rapt dismay as it smashed upon the asphalt.

No point crying over spilt milk. Or smashed glass, rather, even if it was a _little_ embarrassing that he’d failed a task as simple as ‘look after this bottle’. There was sure to be something better they could use in the shop.

Another crack echoed down the street. Louder this time, and it was followed by a heavy thud. A body hitting the ground?

Though his thigh made it difficult to move at more than a hobble, Edward managed to speed-walk his way across the street, steadying himself on the window frame as he entered the shop.

“Oswald!” he shouted, broken glass crunching underfoot.

A rectangle of light broke across the shadow and standing in front of it was Oswald, completely unscathed. He jumped upon hearing Edward’s voice and spun around, raising something long and thick and pointed in preparation to protect himself.

It was a piece of the door, Edward realized. He’d smashed through the door. “You’re alright,” he breathed, allowing himself to deflate, the tense line of his shoulders slumping.

“Edward?” Oswald sounded utterly perplexed. “Of course I’m alright. I did say I would call you if I needed you, didn’t I?”

Edward made himself take a few steps forward so he could collapse onto a nearby counter. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed they were in the remnants of a hair salon. “I suppose I’m just on edge. It’s been a very long day.”

“Indeed.” Oswald finished removing what little was left of the door before he joined Edward at the counter, sliding an arm around his waist. “You dropped the bottle, I take it?”

“Mm,” offered Edward in reply. A non-committal response.

“There’s plenty here to replace it.”

The arm around his waist started to pull him out of his seat and Edward jumped, twisting away from Oswald. “Are you trying to _carry_ me again?”

“I’ve – I’ve broken down the barrier to the next area. We can proceed.”

“I can walk.”

Oswald fidgeted on the spot, refusing to let go of Edward. “You’re exhausted. I don’t want you over-exerting yourself.”

“You’ll need a hand free to fight off the infected,” Edward insisted.

“Then lean into my side, please.” Oswald started guiding one of Edward’s arms around his shoulders, and Edward let him. He knew Oswald was right; he was so exhausted and his leg was hurting so badly that it was miraculous that he was capable of walking at all. He didn’t expect he’d be able to hold onto consciousness for much longer.

“Alright,” he conceded, even though it hurt his ego. He loathed feeling like a burden. “But I should carry a weapon as well.”

“I agree,” said Oswald. “I’ll break off a stool leg for each of us. They should suffice, yes?” He was probably just humouring Edward, but Edward appreciated it all the same.

“Thank you.”

It was interesting to watch Oswald work, watch him exhibit incredible strength when he was so deceptively soft with Edward. He bent the metal legs of a stool back and forth until they snapped right off, and then extended one to Edward. He accepted it. It served as a reassuring presence as Oswald guided him over to the adjacent building.

He could hear the infected inside dragging their feet and huffing like ravenous beasts. Out of some desire to ensure the safety of Jervis’ flock, perhaps misguided, Edwards stopped Oswald before he could kick down the door.

“Bobby pin,” he told him, and Oswald had retrieved one within seconds of him saying so. It wasn’t an ideal lock pick, but it would do the job. He set his weapon aside and crouched down before the door. The noise, however slight it was, stirred the infected into a pursuit and he could hear them meandering around, snuffling the air. They would probably start to smell the fresh blood soon.

The lock clicked open. Oswald’s hand came down upon his shoulder a moment later, pushing him aside. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Edward didn’t argue. If he tried to assist, he’d only end up dying faster and more painfully than he already was.

He nestled himself between the wall and door while Oswald disposed of the hostiles. At the opening to the alleyway he could see the bumpers of the cars arranged into a wall. Beside them was a lamp, illuminating the length of the alleyway. The pole was slightly bent, presumably from an impact with one of the vehicles. One day those cars would be too rusted to serve their purpose. He hoped humanity had found refuge before then.

He felt himself beginning to doze and quickly snapped himself upright, forcing himself awake. He couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure he’d have enough strength to wake up if he did.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before Oswald returned. After closing the door behind them, they resumed walking. He was tired enough to lean his head into Oswald’s shoulder while they shuffled along to the great glass doors leading outside. It felt like the infection was corroding his insides. He wanted to crawl into the back of a car and listen to the engine hum while Oswald drove and think about anything but the rot pervading his veins.

His feet began to drag as they moved further into the city. Distantly, he heard Oswald speaking to him, trying to get him to look at him.

But he could see a car up ahead – many cars, in fact, and he didn’t dare look away when respite was so close.

At some point, the metal pole slipped out of his hand. He heard it clatter to the ground and made no attempt to retrieve it. Oswald grip on him tightened. He was still speaking.

There were a few cars to choose from, but Oswald guided him to the closest one and unlocked the car via the window, opening the passenger door so he could clamber inside. He curled up as best he could upon the cushion. His arms were just free enough to reach the steering column.

“Oswald,” he said quietly, gingerly holding his inured arm away from the backrest. Oswald slid into the driver’s seat. “I need you to remove the column.”

“The what?”

He sighed. “The plastic covering beneath the steering wheel.”

Oswald did as he asked, frowning at the array of wires hidden beneath. He let the cover rest on his ankles. “What next?”

“I’ll-“

“You’ll give me instructions so I can do this for you,” demanded Oswald, none too politely. He reached up to turn on a light, and while he was doing that Ed forced himself into Oswald’s lap and coiled his fingers around the wires. “Edward!”

He didn’t want to be _completely_ useless right up until he died. He was tired and weak, but he was not going to let Oswald take away this scrap of dignity.

When Oswald’s palms slid up his back, he tensed with anticipation, ready to resist should Oswald try to manhandle him back into his seat, but nothing of the sort happened. Oswald’s long, nimble fingers rose to his head and carded through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes so he could better see what he was doing. The gentle stroking ministrations felt surprisingly pleasurable. He lowered his cheek to Oswald’s knee and he felt no desire whatsoever to remove it, even after he’d finished hot writing the vehicle. He was grateful when Oswald didn’t push him away. Awkwardly and with great difficulty, Oswald shoved the steering wheel column back into place without dislodging Edward and began to drive. One of his hands lingered on the top of Edward’s head, lazily stroking his hair like one would a cat.

Edward couldn’t recall a single moment in his life where he’d felt more comforted and loved. He squeezed his eyes shut, warm breaths rolling out of his throat, gradually becoming slower, more relaxed.

The car began to slow. He heard Oswald speak, call his name. There was a tremoring quality to his voice.

“I’m just going to nap,” he told Oswald in a mumble.

The hum of the engine was the lullaby that lulled him to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, guys! I had a little trouble finishing this chapter (you might be able to tell) and I'm not entirely happy with it, but hopefully this will be a satisfying chapter regardless.

His office looked just like he remembered it. Small, neat, and impeccably clean, arranged to satiate Edward’s need for immaculacy. He slowly surveyed the room from wall to wall, taking in the familiar surroundings with hungry eyes. His gaze eventually fell upon the papers on his desk. He couldn’t recall why he was there, or what he had been doing prior to his arrival, but he was sure there was work for Oswald awaiting him among his pile of documents. Oswald always needed something to be done.

He approached his desk and sunk into his seat. The leather was sun-warmed and there was an inexplicable sensation of falling into someone’s arms after a long, arduous day, of being warm and safe. Shades of blue and ice leapt to the surface of his mind and he sunk even deeper into the crescent of leather, basking in the comfort it provided.

He deserved to indulge, he though. Something told him he hadn’t felt like this in a very long time.

With the toes of his dress shoes, he slowly pushed his chair into a spin. It was a childish whim, perhaps, but he wanted to look at every inch of his office he could. He wanted it burned into his retinas so it would never escape him, and though he couldn’t begin to fathom why, he was too relaxed to care. Some riddles weren’t meant to be answered.

He dragged his fingers on the surface of the desk as he came back around, preparing to propel himself into another twirl, when he saw Oswald standing on the opposite side of the desk.

“Oswald!” He righted himself in a bit of a fluster, folded his arms over the desk in an attempt to appear unphased by Oswald’s sudden appearance. “Is there something you need?”

“No, not at all,” said Oswald, taking a seat across from him. Out of kindness, it seemed, he wasn’t acknowledging Edward’s earlier behaviour. “I just thought I’d drop by to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” Edward glanced at the paperwork he had neglected to do. He was starting to feel foolish for letting a chair, of all things, distract him from his work.

But Oswald didn’t mention it. He didn’t even look at it. He continued staring at Edward’s face long after Edward had finished speaking.

Edward couldn’t help but notice how pale he looked, almost sickly. The overhead light gave his skin the appearance of alabaster.

“Actually,” Oswald began, quite abruptly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“What is it, Oswald?” he asked, dismissing the strange feeling of déjà vu that washed over him.

“Well I… you see…” Oswald cleared his throat, clasping his hands in his lap. Had he been crying? There was red in his eyes. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Yes, you… you already mentioned that.”

Oswald flustered. “Oh, I did, didn’t I.” He offered Edward a tight smile. His cheeks were turning pink.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are you ill, Oswald? You do look rather pale.”

Edward’s face remained impassive, but anxiety prickled the surface of his skin. He was starting to wonder if Oswald had come here to deliver some bad news regarding his health. It would certainly explain his deathly pallor and reddened eyes.

“In a sense, yes.” Panic lit up Edward’s face, and Oswald must have noticed, because he quickly added, “Love sick, that is. Not _actual_ illness.”

Edward’s worry made way for relief, and then confusion. “Love sick?”

“What- what I’ve been meaning to tell you is that… I… I love you, Edward.”

He blinked slowly as his own face began to warm. It was summer, so that was perfectly normal, he was sure. “Oh. I see,” was all he managed to say.

Oswald appeared relieved by the absence of a rejection. He leaned forward in his seat, sliding his hands across the table. “You wouldn’t happen to feel the same way…?”

It was unusual for Edward to be without an answer, but Edward could honestly say he didn’t know. It was usually _him_ doing the pursing, not the other way around. This was a novel experience for him, and that was especially relevant in relation to Oswald’s gender. He’d never had a man show interest in him before, nor had he shown interest in another man. The possibility had never occurred to him.

But he couldn’t say it was unappealing.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t think I would mind,” he added, with the distinct feeling that his father would be rolling in his grave if he knew.  

Oswald leaned further out his chair, hands sliding over Edward’s. They were very cool. “Would you give it a try, then? Being with me, that is.”

Before he could answer, the phone rang.

Edward gently eased his hands out from under Oswald’s and reached for the receiver.

“Just a moment. I need to make sure this isn’t something important.”

He pressed the receiver to his ear, stating his carefully recited greeting.

“Hello, this is Chief of Staff Edward Nygma’s office.”

“Edward? Edward? Can you hear me?”

He almost dropped the phone right then and there.

“ _Oswald_?” The Oswald sitting in front of him looked up. He wasn’t holding a phone, and yet he could hear Oswald’s voice quite clearly through the receiver.

“I think he’s waking up. Look – his eyes.”

A sudden bright light burst into the room. Edward raised his arms against it, shielding his eyes. It was too bright, too much – his eyes were throbbing from the intensity of it. He twisted away and suddenly he was falling, tangled in bed sheets, his skin clammy and hot and his head spinning. Strong hands caught him and pulled him back onto a soft mattress.

“It’s okay,” whispered Oswald. He felt Oswald’s hands raise to either side of his face and they were wonderfully cool, just like the hands in his dream. “You’re okay. We’re out of Gotham.”

Edward didn’t understand. He’d been infected. He was supposed to be dead.

Granted, he didn’t feel entirely alive right now, burning hot and nauseous.

“Feel sick,” he croaked, curling a shaking hand into Oswald’s shirtsleeve.

“That’s because you have a fever,” said Rowena, emerging from behind Oswald with a tray of medical equipment clutched in her hands. He could see a thread and needle and sullied bandages. They must have sutured his wounds.

“Fever?” He leaned his face further into Oswald’s hands, enjoying the coolness of them. One of them slid up into his hair and began to stroke. “Infected fever?” he asked in a mumble.

“Not quite,” replied Rowena. She set the tray of equipment aside and lifted a jug and glass off the bedside table. By the wetness on his chin and neck, he guessed she’d attempted to get him to drink something while he’d been unconscious. As she filled the glass, she continued to speak. “You’re a lucky man, Ed. Looks like all those chemicals we’ve been injecting Oswald with have voided his ability to infect people. You’re going to feel like shit for a while, though.” The glass of water was pressed to his bottom lip. “Open.”

Edward obliged. A lovely cool stream of water fell into his mouth, sliding down his throat and into his gullet. He felt immediate relief and lifted his hands to Rowena’s wrist, guiding her into giving him the rest of the water.

Oswald resumed stroking his hair after he’d consumed the contents of the glass.

“Does that mean we created a cure?” he asked in a mumble.

“Only a vaccine, assuming it works on non-infected people as well as it does infected people.” Rowena returned the glass to the bedside table. “You’re going to feel drowsy in a minute. I added an analgesic to that,” said Rowena. “But try to stay awake. Jake’s makin’ you some soup. With Max’s help, of course; she felt it important that I mention that.”

Despite all his pain and nausea, Edward couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll try to stay awake.”

“You’d better. You need sustenance if you’re going to recover.” Rowena gave him a stern, motherly sort of look. “I’ll be back with your food in a jiffy. Oswald, keep an eye on him.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The moment he was alone with Oswald, Edward reached up and curled his shaking fingers into Oswald’s jacket lapels, tugging him closer. His body was so cool it was like having an air conditioner on him. Without needing to be asked, Oswald wrapped his arms around Edward’s shoulders and cradled him to his chest.

It was at this point that Edward realized he didn’t have any clothes on. He then proceeded to accept his nudity without so much as a blush, because this was far from the most embarrassing thing to have happened to him today. Or recently, rather, as he wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the fever had deprived him of consciousness.

“I was worried you wouldn’t wake up,” murmured Oswald. He ran his fingers over the nape of Edward’s neck, eliciting a shiver; he hadn’t known he was sensitive there.

“I’m awake now,” he murmured. “For the moment, at least.”

Oswald gave him a very gentle squeeze. “And thank goodness you are. I know I’ve said it before, but I- I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ed.”

“Well, now you don’t have to think about that,” said Edward, managing a wavering smile. “You’ve saved my life yet again. You seem to be in the habit of doing that.”

Oswald chuckled. “As my chief of staff, you’re most important to me.” He ran his hand back into Edward’s hair, fingers dragging on his scalp. “If I have things my way, I shall never let you leave.”

“I would never do that, Oswald. Not voluntarily,” he said quietly, sliding his arms around Oswald, palms resting on Oswald’s shoulder blades. “I’m going to be alright. You don’t have to worry about losing me.”

Edward was sure, if he’d looked at Oswald’s face, he would have found his bottom lip quivering.

“I can hear Rowena on the stairs.” Oswald’s voice was strained, full of emotion. He slowly lowered Edward back to the mattress. “I’ll help you with the soup, then I insist you get some rest.”

“Very well, Mr. Cobblepot.”

* * *

He woke up some time later feeling moderately less awful. When he turned his head, he saw Oswald still sitting at the side of his bed, reading one of the books he’d brought from the mansion. At his feet, Max played quietly with one of her dolls. She noticed Edward was awake before Oswald did and gasped, “He’s up! He’s up!”

Oswald snapped his book shut. “Did you sleep well, Edward?”

“Reasonably so,” he croaked, glancing down at Max. “And when did you come in, little miss?”

“A couple of hours ago,” she said, planting her hands on her ankles and rocking back and forth. She was grinning so broadly that it was impossible not to grin back. “You slept for ages! You even slept when mom changed your bandages! You had a really bad fever, huh?”

“Yes, he certainly did,” said Oswald, reaching down to ruffle Max’s hair. She giggled and ducked to evade his hand. “But the worst of it seems to be over.”

“Do you feel better enough to come to the lounge room?” asked Max. “I can play you Mario on my piano.”

There was nothing Edward wanted less than to listen to the high pitched ringing of a glockenspiel. To spare Max’s feelings, he groaned softly and sunk into his pillows, putting on a show. It probably wouldn’t have been very convincing to anyone over the age of seven. “I’m sorry, I’m much too ill.”

“Oh.” She dropped back, disappointed. “Maybe tomorrow then?”

“Mmm, maybe,” he offered, hoping it would prompt her to change the subject. Before she could, he went shooting upright, jostling the entire bed. “Her medicine!” he cried.

Both Oswald and Max jumped in surprise. “Pardon?” asked Oswald, while Max uttered a much less formal “What!?”

“Her medicine! It was in the limousine!”

“It’s okay!” insisted Max. “Mom’s gonna give me extra fruits so I have enough vitamins. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

This reassurance did nothing to placate Edward. “We have to retrieve the limousine,” he told Oswald. “We need to get her medicine.”

Oswald’s eyebrows shot up, almost reaching his hairline. “You only _just_ woke up, Edward. You’re in no state to be doing anything of the sort.”

“Give me time to recover, then we’ll retrieve the limousine.”

Max piqued up with her own protest. “But what if you get hurt again?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, trying not to sound irate at being outnumbered. “We were just caught off guard last time, that’s all. It’s generally not something that happens to us.” He swiped his tongue over his lips, which had turned dry and cracked in his slumber. He needed something to drink. “We’ll find Martin while we’re there and bring him back. Tetch probably has him cleaning toilets as we speak.”

Considering Martin had been the one to get them captured, he didn’t feel terribly guilty about Martin being an afterthought.

Oswald threw up his hands, clearly exasperated. “Don’t be ridiculous! You are _not_ going back into Gotham! Not later, and certainly not now!”

“You can’t force me to remain here, Oswald, and I’m sure you don’t want to have to try,” Edward stated calmly.

Oswald’s response was considerably less calm, and Max was driven into a retreat by the volume of it. “You almost died! I won’t let you risk your life again! I’ll lock you in this room if I have to!”

“You’re scaring Max,” he told Oswald in a hiss, whose mouth shut in an instant.

Oswald shot an apologetic look to the cowering little girl.

“I’m – I’m terribly sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to shout.” He took a deep breath, recovering his composure, before he spoke again. “Could you leave us a moment? I wish to speak to Edward privately.” He gestured to the door and Max skittered toward it, leaving her doll at Oswald’s feet. “Close the door behind you, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Oswald turned back on Edward once Max was gone.

Edward spoke first. “Now, what was that about locking me in a room?” He tried to sound cold, but it was a hard tone to achieve when your throat was so dry and sore.

“I won’t let you leave,” said Oswald firmly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But not dangerous for _you_?”

“I’m infected! I have an advantage!”

“My intellect is enough of an advantage. I can be of help.”

“You’ll get hurt again!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Edward, _please_.” Oswald’s hands curled tight in his lap, trembling in a manner that made it impossible not to feel some degree of sympathy for him. He wasn’t just angry; he was _terrified_. “You can’t go back there,” he said beseechingly. “You need to stay here, where it’s _safe_!”  

Edward regarded him wearily. He really wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. His head hurt, his body hurt, he was thirsty, and he was tired, and the yelling was starting to make his temples throb. On to top of all of that, he felt bad for making Oswald worry.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going. You won’t be able to persuade me otherwise.” There was finality in his voice, and Edward hoped it was enough for Oswald to realize any further argument would accomplish nothing.

Oswald lifted a finger. He looked about ready to delve into another squabble, but then thought better of it and withdrew his hand, leaning back in his chair. “Very well. We’ll put this conversation on hold until you recover, but only because I don’t want you under any more stress than you already are.”

“I’m not stressed.” More than anything, he was tired and thirsty. The jug of water was looking very alluring, but he was worried he’d drop it if he tried to pour himself a glass, and he had too much pride to ask Oswald for assistance after their quarrel.

“Nonetheless, there’s no point in discussing it right now,” said Oswald. “You lack the ability to move beyond this bed.”

Edward looked down at himself. With how weak and sickly he felt, he wasn’t about to try proving that assessment wrong. Hopefully it wouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks for him to get back on his feet. He was eager to pay Tetch a visit.

It suddenly occurred to him that wounds received from an infected may not heal as normal ones did.

He considered asking Oswald about it, but he didn’t want to provide Oswald with more reason to fret over his health than he already had. 

“Could you get Rowena for me?” he asked, grabbing a handful of sheet and tugging it over his naked chest. “I’d like to have a – a certain bandaged changed. In private, if you don’t mind.”

“A certain… oh!” Oswald stood so fast that his chair squeaked across the floorboards. His mood had taken a one eighty, and now he was flustered and harried. “Oh, of course. I’ll send her in and return in twenty minutes. That should be enough time, shouldn’t it?”

“Plenty. Thank you.”

He left the room without further preamble.

While alone, Edward took the opportunity to tip the jug over and pour himself a glass of water. A very messy glass of water, mind you, but he didn’t much care that he was getting the floor and sheets wet as he brought the rim to his lips and swallowed down the contents in one long gulp. The painful dryness of his throat and lips disappeared in an instant.

It wasn’t long before Rowena entered with a fresh roll of gauze in hand, a bottle of antiseptic, a towel, and a small bowl of water. When she saw the mess he’d made, she shook her head and tugged the empty glass out of his hand, placing it back on the bedside table. There was a small puddle under the jug.

“Wait until I get here next time. You’ve gotten water all over your sheets.”

“Apologies. I was very thirsty.”

Rowena glanced at the puddle on the bedside table. “Yes, I can see that.”

Feeling that he would benefit from a bandage change, Edward slowly dragged the blanket aside to unveil his thigh, keeping it draped over his genitals and as much of the rest of his body as possible. A faint blush rose on his cheeks.

Now he knew how Oswald had felt after he’d undressed _him_. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, having seen many a naked body on the examination table.

To Rowena’s credit, she seemed entirely unaffected by his nudity. She adopted Oswald’s seat and slid the tray of items onto the nightstand.

“Do you want a painkiller before we begin?” she asked.

Edward hadn’t quite recovered from the last painkiller, but he said, “Yeah”, because his wounds were starting to throb.

She dropped a little white pellet into his hand. It looked more like a tictak than medication. “Put that under your tongue. It’ll dissolve under there.”

He did as she instructed and slid the tablet beneath his tongue. To his relief, it didn’t taste like a normal tablet. It didn’t taste like much of anything, actually. It was like eating chalk.

“Slide your leg toward me,” she said, and he did that too.

Before she could start, Edward cleared his throat to draw her attention. “Rowena, I have a question for you.”

“Go on, then.”

“Do you happen to know if these injuries will heal normally?”

Rowena paused. “I believe so,” she said, reaching down to unclip the sullied bandage, careful not to nudge his wound with her fingers. Her brow was furrowed and that made Edward suspect he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “But they’re going to have very, very noticeable scarring, and they’re probably going to be a source of pain for a long time.”

Edward’s heart sank. He’d been right; he _didn’t_ like what she’d said. The scars, he could live with, but the pain? That would take some getting used to. He’d never had a high tolerance for pain. He wasn’t like Oswald in that regard; Oswald seemed to be able to take a hit with relative ease, which was one of the many reason Edward respected him, while Edward was the sort of man the keeled over in shock.

“Edward, please keep in mind that I don’t _really_ know,” murmured Rowena. “I’ve only checked your blood for the infection. I’d have to have an in depth look and observe you over time to know for sure.”

Edward nodded. He lifted his thigh as the bandaged was pulled up from under it, and then lowered it back to the mattress once his wound had been unveiled. The wound was an unpleasant, patchy pink, while the surrounding skin was pale and smudged with dried blood. The sutures made it look even more grotesque.

Edward forced himself to turn away. It looked horrible, and it would probably heal horribly too.

“Don’t let it worry you,” said Rowena as she reached for the bowl of water, dipping in the end of her towel. With soft, attentive strokes, she cleaned away any remaining filth and discarded the towel once she was done. By now the painkiller had started to take effect, so Edward barely felt a thing when she started dabbing on antiseptic with a balled up piece of bandage.

He stared up at the ceiling while she worked.

“Don’t tell Oswald I asked,” he said quietly, feeling like a child asking their mother to keep a misdeed private.

For a moment, Rowena was silent. Then she sighed. “If you don’t heal properly, he’ll figure it out on his own. He’s a smart boy. But alright, Ed. I won’t mention a thing.”

* * *

His health steadily started to improve. During those first few days Edward had feared his skin would start to rot rather than heal, but by the following week that fear had been rendered irrational. There would definitely be scarring, as Rowena had said, but his injuries were gradually becoming tolerable to look at. Even the pain was ebbing away, if not entirely.

For the most part, he was confined to his bed. The pain in his thigh made it difficult to walk, and when he tried to go about daily tasks, such as retrieving eggs from the coop and gardening, Oswald or Rowena or Jake – and sometimes even Max – would usher him back to the bedroom.

Truth be told, it wasn’t all that bad. He’d never before been the recipient of so much doting and concern, and while it could get frustrating, it was a nice feeling to be cared for. He’d never received that sort of attention in his youth.

Besides, he always had Oswald to keep him occupied. The man spent all his spare time in Edward’s room. Even during meals, he would take his plate and sit at Edward’s side while he ate, regaling him with the day’s events. He didn’t seem to like to leave Edward alone for more than an a few minutes at a time.

“I don’t dream often,” he told Oswald one evening, quite abruptly. The dream he’d had during the fever had been on his mind quite often following his recovery, but it was only now, weeks later, that he mustered up the nerve to mention it.

Oswald snapped his gaze to Edward. There was a plate of steaming meat in his lap (Rowena wouldn't permit him to eat anything uncooked inside the house). Edward had his own plate, though he’d already eaten as much as he could stomach.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t dream often, and when I do, they aren’t usually good dreams.” He rolled onto his side to better look at Oswald. “But during the fever, I had an odd dream about being back in my office.”

Oswald stared at him, brow furrowed. “Forgive my confusion, but why are you telling me this?”

“Because you were in the dream,” said Edward, feeling a little sheepish. “It might not have been as pleasant a dream without you there.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“It’s got me thinking that I should apologize.”

“For what?” asked Oswald, bewildered.

“For not understanding how you felt. I realize my ignorance regarding how other people feel about me can be frustrating.”

“Are you- are you apologizing for not noticing I was in love with you?”

“Yes.”

After a beat of silence, in which Oswald looked very confused indeed, Oswald reached out and set a cool hand upon Edward’s forearm. “Edward, I don’t _blame you_ for not noticing. I would never blame you for something like that. It’s not your fault.”

“It didn’t upset you?”

“Of course it did,” said Oswald. “I hated every minute you spent with Isabella-“

“Isabella.”

“Right.” Oswald visibly rolled his eyes. “I hated every minute you spent with her, but I would never blame you for not recognizing how I felt. I myself would have a hard time identifying that in another person.”

“It doesn’t bother you at all? That I’m like this?”

“Ed…” Oswald leaned closer, the coolness of his skin radiating through his jacket. “I know you’ve had a… difficult time acquiring the acceptance of your peers in the past, but I’m not like them. I like _everything_ about you, even the things you think annoy other people. I even like your _riddles_.”

Edward was so touched by this that he found it impossible to speak. No one, not even his own parents, not even Kristen, had accepted him so unconditionally. Perhaps Isabella had come close… but that relationship had ended months ago, and he’d long since come to terms with the fact he would never see her again. Oswald was the first to appreciate everything about him, the good and the bad. And the bad things about himself, the things he tried to hide, were things Oswald didn’t even _consider_ bad.

He nodded mutedly, sliding his hand over Oswald’s knuckles in a gesture of appreciation.

“You appreciate my comments, I gather.” Oswald offered him a broad smile. “Now, as much as I’d like to continue this intimate moment, I’m afraid I’ve bent over into my dinner…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, gosh, guys... this is a heavy chapter. I really hope you like it. And thank you so, so much to everyone who has left feedback! I've received so many nice comments on this fic, and knowing people enjoy this story and wait eagerly for updates is very encouraging.

While Edward’s health improved, Max’s seemed to get worse. Without her medicine, she became paler, thinner. The bright blue of her eyes seemed duller, and she coughed so frequently that she had to take lozenges for a sore throat. Winter was hitting her harder than anyone had anticipated. Of course, she had never before gone a winter without her medication, so no one could have predicted how ill she would become.

Occasionally she would curl up beside Edward while he lay in bed. Sometimes she asked that he read aloud whatever book he had in hand, even if it wasn’t a subject she would understand. Most times he would indulge her, but occasionally he would select a different book to read, one she would enjoy, and read that instead.  She loathed being treated like a child, but she seemed to have become more complacent as of late. More agreeable.

That made Edward worry.

He was desperate to get better and retrieve her medicine. He felt responsible for her health despite being neither a relative nor a guardian. There would always be a part of him, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, how hard he tried to shove it down, that had the capacity to feel compassion for other people.

He and Oswald hadn’t yet discussed his desire to return to Gotham, and nor had Oswald made any attempt to leave, perhaps because he knew Edward would follow. He suspected Oswald was hoping he would forget about Tetch if he waited long enough. Unfortunately for him, it was very rare for Edward to forget things, especially things that concerned the health of the few people he cared about.

Since Oswald wasn’t going to budge on the matter anytime soon, he decided to take the initiative. The moment he had recovered enough mobility to do so, he threw food, weapons, and a map into the passenger seat of the ute and sat behind the wheel, waiting. It didn’t take long for Oswald to come barrelling out of the house and running up the driveway.

Edward rolled down the window and leaned out as Oswald arrived, huffing and puffing and looking furious.

“Where do you think you’re going!” he demanded.

“Nowhere,” said Edward simply. He gestured to the passenger seat. “Not without you, in any case.”

Oswald opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but then shut it with a loud clack of teeth. He grudgingly circled around to the passenger seat and slid inside. Edward suspected he only did so to prevent Edward from leaving should he start the car.

“I thought we agreed you would stay here.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to do that.” Edward pulled on his seatbelt. “Actually, I’m certain I said the exact opposite when we had that conversation.”

Oswald mouth became a thin, white line. He always pursed his lips when he was angry. “What if you get hurt?”

“You should have more faith in my abilities.”

“I’m not trying to demean your abilities-“

“Then hush and let me drive.”

Edward tried to reach for the ignition, but Oswald leapt at his hands, slapping them away before they could grasp the key. “You listen to me, Edward Nygma: you will be _killed_ if you go back there!”

“And what do you think they would do to you, exactly? Invite you in for tea?” Edward asked wryly. “I know you’re scared, Oswald, and I know you have legitimate reasons to feel that way, but you _have_ to let me take risks. I can’t spend the rest of my life being coddled by you.”

He forced the volume of his voice lower, into something soft and placating. He didn’t want to yell at Oswald; he knew that would only serve to make him more distressed.

“It scares me too, you know. The thought of you being killed. Or even just harmed. But as terrifying a thought as that is, I trust you and your abilities enough to want you to join me in taking down Tetch, and I want you to extend that same trust to me.”

Oswald’s gaze flicked down to his knees. “You’ve almost died _twice_ since the outbreak, and it was _me_ who almost killed you, last time.” His throat bobbed. “I know I – I haven’t mentioned it, but I think about it quite often.”

His voice was wracked with guilt. “Oh, Oswald. All this time…” Edward had never realized how deep the trauma ran. “ _Jervis_ almost killed me, not you, and _your_ life was in just as much danger. Neither of us were supposed to get out of there alive. But we both survived _because of you_.” He leaned closer to Oswald, because he knew the close proximity would give his words a more significant impact. “I know you’ll always be there for me when I need you, and I want you to trust me enough to let me return the favour.”

Oswald blinked rapidly, clearing his throat. It was several seconds before he had enough control over his voice to speak. “I do trust you,” he croaked. “I’ve always trusted you, Ed. I’ve even trusted you with my life. I just… it’s…”

“If you trust me, then believe me when I say that everything is going to be fine,” he continued softly, soothingly. “We’re a great deal more competent and mentally stable than Tetch, after all.”

Oswald chuckled weakly. “Yes, that is true.”

This time, when Edward turned the ignition, Oswald merely twitched. He remained silent as Edward backed out into the street and started driving for Gotham.

There was just enough fuel in the tank for the journey there and back. If they did more driving than Edward was anticipating, he would need to find either a gas station or a car to syphon gas from. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case, though; he didn’t want to give Tetch any opportunities to get the jump on them.

Edward reached over and pulled the map open while Oswald continued to brood. He jabbed a finger at a small section of the map he’d highlighted.

“That’s approximately where we were last time. We should be able to get back in the way we came out.”

Oswald quietly examined the section at which he was pointing. When he spoke, his voice was calm and sombre. “If we’re going to do this, I ask that we develop a detailed plan. Something better than ‘we’ll get in the way we came’.”

“I was getting to that,” said Edward. “I don’t think it’s likely we’re going to be able to blend in with the crowd, considering your affliction and my recognizable features, so we’re going to have to enter at night and make our way to Tetch’s lodgings. If need be, we can observe the comings and goings of the citizens before we make a move.”

“And then?”

“That’s the fun part.” The edges of Edward’s mouth curved into a sharp smile. “Then we’re going to throw Tetch into that cage of his and call on the citizens to watch their beloved mayor be torn to pieces.”

Now Oswald was smiling as well. For the first time since they’d set off, he looked enthused. “We’ll have to secure an infected beforehand.”

“I have a tranquilizer in the back.” He thrust a thumb in its general direction. “As the sedative is designed to sedate cows, I don’t think we’ll encounter any problems with subduing one of the infected.”

Oswald looked positively delighted. “A fitting death for our dear mayor Tetch. You’re brilliant, Ed. You never cease to impress.”

A proud warmth flooded Edward’s cheeks and his smile broadened. He was still unaccustomed to receiving compliments. “Thank you,” he offered in response, not wishing to appear conceited by voicing an agreement. It was true, though; he _was_ brilliant. “I have an escape plan worked out as well, of course. I suspect his citizens aren’t quite as fond of Tetch as he thinks, but just in case.”

“You’ve certainly put a lot of thought into this. Is this what you’ve been doing while you’ve been bedridden?”

“It kept my mind stimulated.”

“You mean Max wasn’t enough to occupy you?”

Edward smile descended into a frown. “Not recently, no. She’s been lethargic as of late.”

“Ah. Yes. I did notice that.” He must have felt embarrassed for sullying the good mood with talk of Max’s poor health, because Oswald quickly diverted his gaze, hands wringing in his lap. The car door squeaked as he leaned into it.

Winter had long since passed, but the chill of spring still permeated the air. Edward’s breath misted when he breathed. He glanced to the fields either side of them and most of what he could see was yellow and brown. Yellow tufts of grass and brown mud, occasionally offset by smatterings of bright green.

The fields would give way to signs of society after a few hours of driving. Neater roads would emerge, followed by signs, houses, and shops.

Despite only having made the trip once, Edward had already memorized how many signs there were and what they depicted. It had been a way to keep himself entertained during their last trip.

He’d picked up the habit of compiling extraneous information as a schoolboy, young and poverty stricken as he had been. He hadn’t the money for the toys his classmates brought along to outings. He hadn’t even been able to risk bringing a library book, least his bullies decide to tear it up and land him with a compensation fee. He had passed the time by pressing his face to a window and watching the world flit past. He’d count cars, people, dogs, eateries, clothing stores, and signs. If he could remember them well enough, sometimes he had sorted them into categories, such as colour, size, and shape.

Edward took note of each sign they passed. He knew when they reached one depicting a man eating a corn on a cob they were halfway to their destination.

After a while, Oswald leaned over and plucked a cassette tape out of the dashboard compartment and shoved it into the player. A song about ‘praisin’ Jesus’ began to play. Edward arched an eyebrow at Oswald, who smiled sheepishly and popped in a different tape.

Country music. How predictable.

They only managed twenty minutes of listening to a rough-throated countryman spiel on and on about his wife and pickup truck before the repetition got too much to bear. The remaining cassette tapes were filled with Christmas jingles, and those were what they relented to listening to for the remainder of the journey.

Any drowsiness Edward felt from the length of the journey disappeared the moment he spotted a tall stretch of buildings in the distance, so high that the tops were rendered a fuzzy shadow by the evening mist. He turned off the music before they reached the toll road.

Oswald quietly folded up the map and slid it into his jacket when they arrived in the heart of the city. He reached into the back for their weapons while Edward found a place to park.

There was a sort of nervous energy shared between them, and neither of them dared break the dead silence that encased the barren streets of Gotham. It was only now that the fear of what they were about to do settled fully into their minds.

Edward stepped into the street, licking his lips. They were very dry, while his hands were sweaty around the rough handle of Oswald’s old pistol. He helped Oswald retrieve their rope, a flask of water, and a torch from the back seats before setting off.

They entered the very same way they escaped. Into the shops, through the door. Edward made sure the door was closed firmly behind him before following Oswald into the street.

Edward didn’t like how quiet it was. Too serene. It was the complete antithesis of what Gotham had once been. He found himself looking forward to hearing the sounds of people going about their day to day lives, rather than the far more pertinent sound of hearing Tetch take his last breath.

It took a considerable amount of walking for them to make their first encounter. They came upon a man sitting in the gutter, picking at a piece of bread mottled with mould, and hung back so they wouldn’t be seen. He was alone, and that made it easy to follow him when he finally rose and started walking down the footpath. It didn’t escape Edward’s notice that his clothes were ragged and worn. It seemed Tetch had arranged a hierarchy, and this man was on the bottom of it.

He wondered if this man could be used to their advantage, if he could persuade them to their side – but he didn’t want to risk finding out he was wrong.

They crept quietly along until more people started to appear. Dirty, downtrodden people, who looked hungry and cold. A few of them were noticeably emancipated. It was a wonder any of them had survived the winter.

The deeper into the city they ventured, ducking into buildings and alleyways, the more apparent it became that the people they had seen on the day of the attempted execution was just a fraction of the remaining population. These people looked as though Tetch had offered them very little in the way of shelter and food.

Edward couldn’t help himself; he started imagining Oswald usurping Tetch as mayor, leading a coup through the beaten down residents of the slums. To be the orchestrator of Oswald’s ascent to power, again, would be a great pleasure.

But Edward banished the thought before it could develop any further. They already had a plan and they were going to stick with it. They could think about returning Oswald to his role as mayor after they had taken Tetch out of the picture.

Up ahead, the streets were too thick with throngs of people for he and Oswald to advance. They slipped into an alleyway, resolving to stay there until everyone had retired for the night. Neither of them expected anyone to linger. With how hostile the world was these days, the monsters in the shadows became an all too real threat. Even Oswald and Edward had scarcely gone out at night on the farm.

They sat in the far corner of the alleyway and discussed their plan in a whisper while the sky quickly darkened above them.  Soon people were trudging back to their homes, muttering faintly about how good their day had been, or how tiring, or how voicing concerns about the status of the food reserves. Edward took note of these things for future reference.

The sun had descended far beyond the skyline by the time they found themselves alone. They waited until every last window had gone dark before creeping out into the street. What few streetlights persisted through the weather illuminated the asphalt, making the journey to Tetch’s lodgings an easy one, fraught only with the danger of someone looking out and spotting them.

No one did.

Every second they spent advancing on Tetch’s location felt impossibly long. Edward knew this feeling, was intimate with it. He’d felt much the same way after killing Kristen and having psychotic episodes in which he blindly distributed her body parts through the GCPD.

His heart thrummed in his chest like a trapped bird.

He listened intently for the tell-tale crunch of approaching footsteps as they slid silently to the entrance of Tetch’s kingdom. Edward could hear breathing beyond the door. He raised an arm, preventing Oswald from stepping inside. A gesture to the door was enough to convey their reason for stopping.

They moved down the side of the building instead. There were no guards there, just a few garbage bins and a locked door. Edward retrieved a bobby pin from his back pocket. It was one of Max’s. He had, of course, taken it with her permission, because Edward wasn’t about to steal from a little girl.

It took him less than five minutes to get the door open. Oswald’s eyebrows shot up, impressed. He must not have picked a lock before, because the process was quite easy once you had enough experience.

They crept inside. The unfamiliar halls of Aubrey James’ personal mansion greeted them solemnly, barely visible through the dark. Few lights had been left on. Edward expected they were trying to conserve electricity. They closed the door behind them, and that rendered them blind save for the path they could map out with outstretched hands (Edward didn’t dare utilize the torch.  He feared they would be discovered if he did). It was fortunate that Edward was blessed with an eidetic memory. He had a good idea of where they needed to go.

Oswald kept a hold of his coat while they walked, preventing him straying too far. He knew the dining hall wasn’t far from where they were. Where Tetch’s sleeping quarters were, however, he wasn’t sure; they would have to wander until they found him.

They reached the entrance to the dining room. Standing against it, Edward looked down each end of the hallway for a clue as to where to go next.

“Is this the dining room?” asked Oswald in a whisper.

“Yes.”

Oswald twisted his thin, pale fingers into the sleeve of his coat and pulled him down the left hallway. “I think it might be this way. I faintly recall passing some bedrooms when I was last here.” He gestured to the far end of hallway, which was lit up by a lamp. “Get your gun ready.”

Edward did as he instructed, pulling back the safety and holding it at waist level. The barrel was pointed away from Oswald as a safety measure. Edward wasn’t exactly experienced with firearms. In fact, he had more experience with being shot with them than actually using them.

Before they could take another step, a man stepped out and into the hallway. Edward recognized them as Bill. He grabbed Oswald by the lapels, dragging him to the floor and beneath a nearby phone table. Oswald held his breath, what little he needed to, and clapped a hand over Edward’s mouth to ensure his heavy, distinctly _alive_ breathing wouldn’t be audible.

Long legs passed them at an amble. Edward followed them as best he could with his eyes, squinting through the dark. By the unsteadiness of his gait, Bill must have been drinking.

They waited until he had rounded a corner before emerging from their hiding spot, resuming their crawl along the hallway. Edward was now absolutely certain they were going the right way.

The door from which Bill had exited opened up to another hallway. This one was immediately identifiable as a row of bedrooms, few of which were occupied. He spied a young boy sleeping with his door wide open, snoring softly and clutching his pillow.

They moved further up the hallway. They didn’t expect Tetch to be sleeping among the common rabble. No, he would have selected the most ostentatious room in the house for himself, the one previously reserved for Mayor James.

A staircase stood at the end of the hallway. They ascended the steps after a cursory glance of their surroundings and found themselves facing a beautiful, ornament wooden door, lit up by hanging lamps. They exchanged a glance; they both knew they would find Tetch slumbering inside.

Edward tightened his sweaty palms around his gun.

The door opened with a soft creak. Very carefully, with their breaths held, they shut it behind them.

Tetch didn’t stir. Once at the foot of his bed, Oswald lifted a coil of rope from around his waist and gestured for Edward to make his move.

He shoved the barrel against Tetch’s throat, hard, with no concessions for his comfort. Tetch awoke with a strangled gasp of surprise and immediately tried to shift out from under the barrel, but Edward pressed it hard against his oesophagus, sliding a leg onto the soft mattress. Silk quilts bundled up under his knee.

“What the- you two!” spluttered Tetch. “How did you get in here!?”

Instead of replying, Edward grabbed one of his pillows by a corner and threw it to Oswald.

“Use the pillowcase to gag him.”

Tetch made a few attempts to escape while Oswald did just that, but a smack across the forehead with the butt of the gun was enough to render him compliant. Or too disorientated to struggle, in any case.

They dragged him to the floor and trussed him up with the ropes until he looked like a turkey on thanksgiving. Pleased with his work, Oswald grasped Tetch around the middle and hoisted him up under his arm, carrying him like one would a small dog.

Feeling elated by their success, they found the journey back to their vehicle a great deal easier. At this point, even if someone had tried to attack them, to stop them, they still had their quarry. They could simply shoot him and run if necessary. In the dead of the night it wasn’t likely they would be pursued.

But they needn’t worry, because they reached the safety of their vehicle without incident.

Edward sat in the car with Tetch splayed across the seats while Oswald located an infected to bring to Tetch’s arena. When he returned some time later, it was with an emancipated grey-skinned man draped over his shoulders, his mouth wide open and dribbling onto Oswald’s shoulder. Though it was unconscious, its pale eyes peered up at the sky and glistened under the moonlight.

Tetch’s own eyes bulged upon seeing it and he started to thrash, kicking his legs back and forth, twisting his torso. Striking him across the head wasn’t enough to subdue him this time. He groaned into the pillowcase around his head and Edward realized he’d struck him hard enough to draw blood, watching it bead on his forehead, soaking into his dark hair.

All dishevelled and wide-eyed and bleeding – it was a good look on him, thought Edward. Tetch was getting a lesson in humility.

“Will you be able to carry him?” asked Oswald.

“Seeing as both your arms are occupied, I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Edward examined Tetch from head to toe. If he was anywhere near as heavy as Jim had been, there was going to be a lot of dragging involved in transferring him anywhere. He’d never quite perfected his method of carrying bodies, which, come to think of it, was probably the primary reason Jim had managed to escape. Maybe he should have cut him up. That would have ensured he was easy to convey to his resting place.

But that was all in the past. No point in dwelling on it.

He grasped Tetch by the rope coiled around his torso and dragged him out of the vehicle. For a moment, Tetch was airborne, and gravity tore Tetch out of his grip and left him hurtling into the ground, landing with a loud smack upon the asphalt. The crack of bone on a hard surface was enough to elicit a grimace from Edward. That _must_ have hurt.

By the look on Tetch’s face, his observation was an accurate one.

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter if this journey isn’t comfortable.” Tetch would be dying shortly anyway, and it wasn’t as though Tetch had taken Edward’s comfort into consideration before throwing him into the arena to die. He’d been sent to greet his death with a pounding headache and a queasy feeling in his gut. Granted, the queasy feeling probably would have occurred even without the concussion.

He started to drag him across the ground, realizing very fast that his arms were going to get tired long before they reached their destination. The arm that had been injured was _already_ tingling from the slight exertion.

He would just have to persevere. He wasn’t about to make Oswald carry two bodies.

After a while, Tetch resumed struggling. He’d managed to push the pillow case out of his mouth enough to start making threats.

“I swear, my people will come to my aid! You will see, and you will rue the day you made an attempt on my life!”

With a roll of his eyes, Edward stuffed the pillow case back into his mouth and gave him a nice, hard smack over the top of his head, which seemed to be the quickest way to make him docile. Once again, he fell still. Edward hoped he had a concussion.

“We should’ve brought tranquilizer for him,” he told Oswald.

Oswald smiled wryly. “And miss out on you hitting him across the head like a misbehaving pet? No, this is fine.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of _that_.”

Edward readjusted his grip on Tetch and resumed dragging him across the footpath. At this rate, it would be light by the time they reached the arena. They weren’t even a quarter of the way there and his arms had already begun to develop an ache.

They took several rest stops. Altogether, the journey must have been at least a few hours, because the sun was starting to peek above the skyline and light up the streets when Edward finally pulled Tetch into the courthouse. He dropped Tetch unceremoniously before the cage and dragged his coat sleeve across his forehead, wiping away a thin sheen of sweat.

The courthouse was empty save for them. Most people would be in the process of waking up, getting ready for the day. No one had yet thought to come to the courthouse. But they would, very soon.

He was tired enough to let Oswald move Tetch and the infected into the cage by himself. While Oswald was busy tying the infected to the bars, just tight enough to prevent it from killing Tetch before their spectators had arrived, Edward searched the walls until he had found the fire alarm.

“Ready?” he shouted to Oswald.

Oswald released the infected and moved over to Tetch. Tetch began spluttering threats the moment the pillowcase was removed.

“You’ll regret this!” reverberated off the walls.

Oswald laughed in his face. “Oh, I doubt that. Go ahead, Ed.”

He pulled the alarm.

There was no doubt in his mind that the thundering of the fire alarm would be enough to draw a crowd. Peeking out the door, already he could see clusters of people forming in the streets, some dressed and bright eyed and others still in slippers and pyjamas. There were children among them; Edward would have to turn them away at the door.

He opened the entrance in invitation when they started to inch closer.

“Come in! The show’s about to start!”

“The show?” asked a woman in a mutter. “I didn’t think Tetch had one arranged.”

“Neither did I.”

“Has he ever had one this early in the morning?”

Edward stepped out, arms stretched high above his head in welcome. “Don’t dawdle, now! Come in and take as seat! You’ll want to grab one of the good ones.”

He remained standing by the fire alarm while people filed inside. Men, women, young and old, from all areas of Tetch’s hierarchy. He was pleased to note the downtrodden citizens of Tetch’s system were a majority. He ushered them in with all the enthusiasm of a conductor, watching with a grin as they paused upon seeing their mayor trapped in the cage, yelling out demands for assistance, and sat down regardless. They weren’t nearly as fond of him as Tetch had assumed, it seemed. It brought to mind Muammar Gaddafi, Benito Mussolini, Pol Pot, but this event wouldn’t be nearly as historical. Tetch would die and no one would care enough to remember.

“Edward?” He turned to find a shocked Martin standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d had a rough few weeks under Tetch’s rule. His hair was in terrible disarray and there were deep, black bags under his eyes and a thick layer of peach fuzz on his chin.

“Martin.” He had to shout to be heard over the ringing. “You’re looking a little on the rough side.”

“I could say the same for you,” said Martin. He strode the rest of the way inside and pulled Edward into a hug, much to Edward’s surprise. “God, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I considered trying to escape a few times, but I knew I’d just end up dead.”

He awkwardly patted Martin’s back to placate him. “I’m glad you didn’t, then. You would’ve missed the show.”

“The show?”

“We’ve thrown Tetch into his own arena.”

Martin withdrew and beamed at him. “Seriously? Jesus, how’d you guys manage that?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” said Edward, pulling Martin out of the way of a few people trying to enter. “Just take a seat and enjoy the show for now.”

He directed Martin to a front row seat and resumed standing by the alarm. When the stands were full, he finally switched it off.

People spoke to each other in a whisper. They were watching their mayor put distance between himself and the infected, their expressions curious and confused, and perhaps a little bit excited. Edward made sure no children had crept inside without his noticing before he joined Oswald at the podium.

Oswald cleared his throat and the room fell silent.

“I take great pleasure in telling all of you, who have suffered loss and pain, if not from the outbreak, then from this man,” He gestured to Tetch, who snarled in response. “That things are going to change. You will no longer live in squaller, and nor will you be denied your basic needs so those who have sidled up to Tetch may sit comfortably above you. Tonight, you join me in pulling your dictator down from his pedestal.”

There was a modest cheer from the stands. A few people stood up and clapped.

“Some of you seem wary – I understand. I’m clearly afflicted, but I assure you, I’m perfectly cognizant. Your mayor had to drug me repeatedly and persistently to produce the outcome you were presented last time you were here.” He paused for effect. “You see, one of the things your mayor failed to mention was that a cure is in development, and I’m an example of its progress.”

Discussion began to brew, and Oswald silenced it by raising a hand.

“We can put a stop to the extinction of humanity _now_ , and the first step in doing so is taking out the people who try to hinder progress. So, I present to you, your former mayor.”

There was a louder cheer this time, enough to reverberate off the walls, to cajole previous silent spectators into joining in. Edward clapped as well, practically radiating pride.

The infected man Oswald had subdued had begun to stir. It was already yanking at its binding in an effort to get at Tetch, and it wouldn’t be long before it broke free. Edward was almost bouncing on his heels in anticipation.

It took two, maybe three minutes before the show started.

To Tetch’s credit, he didn’t try to run; he slammed a shoulder into the beast in an attempt to knock it down, laughing manically all the while. He didn’t succeed in defending himself, of course; the beast was too strong. It dragged him down and bit hard into his neck, tearing out his jugular. A forearm kept him pinned to the floor while the beast proceeded to tear its way into Tetch’s chest cavity with its dirty fingers. If he’d had enough air in his lungs to do it with, Tetch probably would have screamed.

It was hard to say how many breaths he managed to take before asphyxiating on his own blood.

The deed was done. The mayor was dead.

A roaring erupted from the crowd.

Edward grinned at Oswald. “Evidently they still love you.”

“You think so?” Oswald returned the grin, albeit with a hint of uncertainty. “Do you think they would accept me as their leader, even now?”

“Look at them.” He gestured to the cheering crowds, some of which were crying and holding each other, relieved to be free of Tetch’s tyranny. There were others who looked disgruntled, but their numbers were so few that Edward didn’t expect dealing with them to be difficult. “They’re cheering for you,” he continued. “They respect you. They believe you can give them a better future, and so do I.”

Oswald’s grin turned wavering. He bit his lip, then dropped his eyes to the podium. “I’d like you to continue being my second in command, of course.”

“But that’s not what I want,” said Edward. Before Oswald could withdraw out of shock and hurt, he stepped up beside him and brought their hands together, entwining their fingers. Oswald stared up at him, utterly bewildered.

“I want to be with you.”

“As- as a friend?” stammered Oswald.

Edward gave his hand a squeeze and cast a look around the courthouse, taking in the faces of the men and woman bundled together in the stands, feeling their enthusiasm and relief drive away any reservations he might have had.

He could make this work. He wanted to make this work.

“No,” he said gently. “I love you, Oswald.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry it took me so long to get around to updating! I didn't actually intend to continue writing the story; I was going to end it here, but now I've written about three more chapters with no intention of stopping. It looks like the story is going to be novel length! My first novel length fanfic ever. You guys are in for a lot more angst and drama...

It was hours before the jubilation of Gotham’s citizens finally died down. People slowly started filing out of the dining hall – to which Oswald had invited them for a celebratory feast – and resumed their day to day activities. Those who lingered were either too content or too drunk to move. As Edward went from chair to chair trying to rouse those who had fallen into a drunken stupor, he wondered if the offering of brandy and wine had been too great of an indulgence. They must have emptied the entire stock. The thickset man in a middle-most chair had consumed an entire bottle all on his own.

A few of the more aware people slumped out of their chairs and proceeded to drag themselves in the general direction of the exit. That was good enough for Edward, so he left the remaining citizens to languish where they were and went to join Oswald in the master bedroom. He had retired there an hour or so into the celebrations with the promise he would return before noon. He hadn’t, but no one but Martin and himself seemed to have noticed.

When he entered the room, he found Oswald sitting on the edge of their bed (a strange way to refer to the bed, as he had never before shared a bed with someone), thumbing through a lapful of keys. He smiled upon seeing Edward.

“What time is it?“ His gaze shot around the room in search of a clock, but there was none. The walls were barren of anything but what pages of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland Jervis had decided to pin to the wood. They’d have to take them down later. They weren’t Ed’s idea of décor. A few had already been ripped off, presumably by Oswald, and now littered the floor.

“Around one,” answered Edward, coming to sit at Oswald’s side.

“I was supposed to be back a while ago, wasn’t I?”

“You didn’t miss out on much,” said Edward, shrugging. “And I don’t believe anyone noticed. Not out of lack of respect,” he added quickly. “There’s over twenty empty bottles of wine on the dining room table right now.”

“Of course there is.” Oswald snorted and returned to sifting through the keys in his lap. “I found the limousine keys earlier. After reading Tetch’s diary, I have a good idea of where the limousine may be. We can retrieve Max’s medication and take it down to her. And yes, Tetch has a diary, though it’s full of drivel about his sister and Alice in Wonderland, so I don’t think you would find it of great interest.”

“We have a city to run, Oswald. We can’t leave now, not at such a pivotal moment.”

Oswald cast him a mildly irate look. “I’m well aware of that, but we don’t know these people, and most of them don’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“They’re our citizens,” said Edward, but he knew Oswald was right. They couldn’t entrust such a task to just anyone. “What about Martin? We could send him along with some of the sturdier looking men and a cell phone.”

“I saw him drinking brandy straight and swearing like a sailor earlier.”

“Not the most reassuring display, I know, but we don’t have much choice. I’ll make the arrangements later.” Edward plucked a key out of Oswald’s lap and examined it. Judging by the design, it much have been a key for a wardrobe. “I supposed Jervis took all the keys and dumped them in a drawer?”

“That seems to be what he’s done.” Oswald sighed. “I’ve unlocked everything in this room, so I’ve started looking for the key for the food storage in the kitchen. Apparently the kitchen staff only have the key for the cupboards. You know, immediate necessities.”

Edward knew what door Oswald was talking about. He’d seen it while fetching some plates and glasses for their guests. A thick, ironwood door that had looked like it had been taken straight out of a medieval castle. With how fortified it was, he suspected food wasn’t the only thing kept down there.

“It looks like the door was a recent installation, and the handle was brass, so I would say…” He removed three keys from the pile. “These.”

“I’m never not going to be impressed by that, you know,” said Oswald with a chuckle, pushing the other keys off of his thighs and onto the bed. “Never.” He closed the space between them so his shoulder was flush against Edward’s side. His hand slid to Edward’s knuckles, lightly brushing them before pulling away. He seemed too nervous to proceed with holding his hand. “Ed, what you said at the court house… is being my romantic partner what you meant? I want to be sure.”

Edward considered him for a moment. This would generally be ones cue to initiate a kiss, but he’d never kissed a man before, and there was that niggling feeling imposed by his father and childhood pastor that it would be wrong to do so. He knew there was nothing wrong with kissing another man, and he prided himself on favouring intellect over emotion, and yet he couldn’t dispel his unease. He didn’t even have Oswald’s affliction to blame anymore, as he knew now it wouldn’t harm him.

“I love you,” he said again, partly because he needed to remind himself _why_ he was doing this. He pocketed the keys for later use before he continued. “As a romantic partner, I mean, not a friend,” he added, slowly stretching an arm around Oswald’s shoulders and drawing him close. “I don’t know how easy it’s going to be for me to get used to this, but I do love you. I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

Rather than pleased, Oswald seemed confused. “What do you mean by that?”

“The first part?”

“Yes, that.”

Edward hesitated. It was a difficult thing to put into words, and he wasn’t the most verbose person when it came to conveying ones feelings through speech in the first place. “Well, I... I grew up in a Christian household, so I suppose I’ve internalized some of those ‘being gay is wrong’ sermons.” He leaned closer to Oswald, placing his cheek against the man’s chest. When he spoke, he spoke against the sharp edge of Oswald’s collarbone. “But I know what I want, and that’s you. You don’t have to worry about religion chasing me off. Never much cared for it even while I was being indoctrinated.”

Oswald started to card his fingers through Edward’s thick brown hair. “Does that mean you won’t be available to claim my first kiss?”

 “Your _first_ kiss?” Edward tried not to sound incredulous, but Oswald was thirty two, and a handsome thirty two year old at that; how had he never so much as kissed anyone?

“Er, yes.” Oswald’s face probably would have started to turn red had he enough active capillaries to do so. “Real kiss, that is. I may have been… pranked into it once or twice, so I don’t count those occasions.”

Edward felt a pang of sympathy. He too knew what it was like to be the subject of bullying. “Children can be terribly cruel.”

“Yes, they certainly can be,” said Oswald, suddenly sounding very weary, like the mere memory of his childhood was enough to elicit exhaustion. “But that was a long time ago. I have someone _genuinely_ interested in me now, and he’s currently in the process of lying in my lap.”

Edward let his head descend a little lower, so he was draped over Oswald’s thighs. “Not in the process anymore.”

Oswald laughed. It was soft and warm, and Edward’s heartbeat started to pick up. “Comfortable?” The fingers in Edward’s hair descended to his face, gently turning his head enough for Oswald to lean down and mumble over his lips. “So, may I have my first kiss?”

Edward didn’t give himself time to hesitate. He wanted to kiss Oswald. He wanted to know what it felt like, and what he would feel while it was happening. It was a mystery and he so did like to solve those. “You may.”

Their lips met and it wasn’t the awkward experience Edward had been expecting; men, he’d though, especially men as inexperienced as Oswald, would kiss differently from women, but there was nothing overly spectacular about it or different from how he had kissed Isabella or Kristen. It wasn’t hard, or unpleasant, or full of that chaste shyness that came with inexperience, nor any gummy and toothy desperation. It was just… right. That was it. It felt right. There was no other way to describe it.

And it was this feeling that banished his remaining reservations, and he didn’t think of his father as he pulled back to take a breath, or of the pastor as he re-initiated the kiss, deepening it. The only thing on his mind was Oswald and how in love he was with everything about him.

They were both breathless when they finally parted.

“How was it?” he asked, just a touch worried about his performance. He’d only ever kissed two people before, and generally those had been chaste kisses.

Oswald peered down at him with half-lidded eyes, a broad smile on his face. Edward didn’t think he’d ever seen him look happier.

“Perfect. I think I’m more in love with you than ever.”

* * *

A great many changes were implemented following Tetch’s death. The first thing he and Oswald did was abolish the hierarchy. Everyone was important, everyone had a role. Whether it be tending to the animals they had transferred from the farm, or providing day-care for those too young to start school, everyone had something to do. It cultivated an environment of structure and stability. They had enough food, water, land, and shelter because they all worked together to make Gotham liveable again.

Every day they seemed to find someone new to initiate into their settlement. There were more people alive than either he or Oswald had anticipated. It wasn’t uncommon for them to stumble upon their settlement by accident or tune into the broadcasts they sent out, though there didn’t seem to be many who still listened to their radio.

The cure they were developing meant that those who arrived at their gates while infected were able to survive their ailment. Families were able to remain together. Those who were too far gone to be able to reap immediate benefit from the concoction were sent to Arkham, where they received periodic injections from those who were impervious to the infection in hopes of staving off complete mental deterioration. So far they had only managed to prevent a few from succumbing to the infection, but that number was steadily growing as he and Rowena worked on their vaccine. In a few years, that number might even go down to zero.

Thorough their sweat and toil, the residents of Gotham were safe and happy, much safer and happier than they had been under Tetch’s rule. Not that that was much of an accomplishment with how tyrannical Tetch had been, but fixing all of his mistakes and retracting all of his cruelty and showing people their life was still worth living, that they didn’t have to spend the rest of their lives begging for scraps and stealing and sweltering in their own filth, that mankind could still cultivate a future for itself - that had taken a great deal of time and effort.

There was only one problem – Edward was still in pain, and the more work he had to do around the settlement, the harder he found it to hide his ailment from Oswald. Exertion of his muscles, particularly his damaged thigh, usually drove him to use painkillers. Vicodin was his painkiller of choice, though its sedating effects significantly impacted his performance, so he used it as sparingly as possible. He was sure Oswald had spotted him swallowing the tablet dry once or twice, though the man had yet to say anything to him about it.

Rowena, on the other hand, regularly took him aside for a scolding. “You _still_ haven’t told him? You’re his right hand man! You shouldn’t be keeping secrets!”

“I’ll tell him eventually,” was his usual reply, and it wasn’t a lie; he _would_ tell Oswald eventually, just later, when the circumstances were more favourable. All going well, he’d find a plentiful supply of a better painkiller to combat his pain and tell Oswald he had it under control. It wasn’t anything serious, anyway. It wasn’t as though Oswald had infected him with a terminal illness. As long as he was still functional, still able to fulfil his role, did it _really_ matter?

So he continued working, and working, and working… until he ran out of his choice medication. He vaguely recalled telling himself he needed to prepare a contingency plan should he run out of his supply of vicodin, but that reminder had gotten lost beneath his other, more pressing obligations. The months following Tetch’s demise had just been so _busy_.

He thought it a little ironic that Oswald came upon him looking even worse than he would have had he approached Oswald voluntarily. He’d been on the vicodin for months, and the withdrawal symptoms, oh, they weren’t pretty.

He squinted at Oswald from inside their scarcely used bathtub, in naught but his boxers and a dress shirt, covered in sweat and trembling from head to toe. His dark hair had plastered itself to his forehead. He tried to brush it back into something resembling order, but he only succeeded in making himself look more disheveled. The collar of his shirt was soaking wet, and his eyes were sore, so he was sure they were red.

Oswald gaped at him from the doorway.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, though he doubted it would do much to soothe Oswald’s concern. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather.”

“Ed, what in the world…” Oswald stumbled his way over to the bathtub. “Do you have the flu? I hear that’s been going around. Goodness, you must be especially susceptible. You look terrible.”

“No, it’s not that.” Edward leaned his head into the bathroom tiles. They were wonderfully cool on his sweltering forehead.

At this point, he knew a lie would sound worse than the truth. “I’m just experience withdrawal.”

“From- from drugs?” stammered Oswald. “You’ve been taking _drugs_?”

“No!” exclaimed Edward, looking affronted. “I mean, not recreational drugs. Vicodin.” When Oswald didn’t respond, he added, “For my leg and arm. They still hurt.”

Now Oswald looked about ready to slap him. Fortunately, he seemed able to resist the urge. “I knew it! I knew something was wrong!” As he spoke, he reached beneath Edward and heaved him out of the tub, carrying him bridal style across the bathroom. Edward wished Oswald had left him there. He’d spent the last five minutes struggling out of his clothes and dragging himself into the tub specifically so he could douse himself in cold water.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I thought to myself, Edward would tell me if something was wrong, he would be honest with me, but every time I saw you take one of those tablets, I _wondered_.”

“Sorry,” he offered weakly. “I didn’t think it pertinent information while I was able to perform my duties.”

“Well, you’re not able to do them now, are you?”

“I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“No, don’t… don’t do that. Don’t apologize.”

Edward wasn’t entirely sure what else he was supposed to say rectify the situation. He remained quiet as Oswald stomped his way out the bathroom and into their bedroom, depositing Edward upon the nest of quilts. He still looked very, very unhappy with Edward, though his angry expression was belied by the gentleness with which he handled Edward.

“I’m not upset because you won’t be able to help me,” said Oswald. “I’m upset because you were hurting, and you didn’t tell me. I’m your _boyfriend_ , don’t I deserve to know the status of your health?”

He hadn’t really thought about it like that. After the incident with Kristen, he’d thought perhaps having a few secrets was imperative for a healthy relationships, but perhaps that wasn’t the case with Oswald. Oswald wanted to be informed, even if the information hurt him. Edward had never had that issue, personally; he could find out anything he wanted to know about someone without needing their involvement or consent. This, in retrospect, was probably one of the reasons Kristen had found him creepy.

He tried to muster up an expression of guilt. Though all he really managed was a grimace, his attempt seemed to placate Oswald somewhat.

“We really ought to hire a pharmacist,” mumbled Oswald as he handed Edward a glass of tepid water from their bedside table. Edward swallowed it with vigour. “Didn’t you know vicodin was addictive?”

“All pain medications are addictive to some degree.” He set the empty glass on the bedside table and curled up on his side, peering up at Oswald with sore red eyes. Lying on his side somewhat alleviated his pounding headache. “It would’ve been fine if I hadn’t run out. I just didn’t have the time to arrange an excursion to acquire more, and by the time I realized I was running low, well…” When Oswald didn’t voluntarily join him in the bed, he reached for Oswald’s jacket and gave him a weak little tug. This was a pitiable enough display that Oswald lowered himself to the mattress and lay down beside Edward, pulling Edward into his chest. His skin was delightfully cool.

“You should have told me. I could have arranged that for you,” said Oswald while Edward tried and failed to pull off Oswald’s jacket. Eventually Oswald did it himself, and then removed his trousers and dress shirt, curling his naked limbs around Edward’s trembling body.

“Sorry,” said Edward again, closing his eyes as the coolness of Oswald’s body radiated into his own. “You’ve been though a lot lately; I honestly thought telling you would be worrying you unnecessarily. And it’s not like I’m dying, Oswald. It’s just pain.”

“Just pain.” Oswald scoffed. “Edward, I have lived with pain for _years_ , and it is _not_ ‘just pain’. It can be _debilitating_ , emotionally and physically.”

Edward had to restrain the urge to apologize again. That would be what, the fourth time?

“You’re right,” he decided upon instead, mostly because it’s something he loved to hear from people’s mouths, and he was sure Oswald would share his appreciation.

Oswald mouth did twitch, though he managed to restrain the urge to smile. “I won’t lie, Ed; it does upset me that I – inadvertently or not – have caused you permanent injury,” he continued. “But I would rather know than not. I don’t like that you kept it from me.”

“I’m-“ No, don’t apologize. “It wasn’t my intent to disappoint you. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, Ed- you didn’t disappoint me, you _worried_ me, that’s all,” insisted Oswald. He burrowed his pointed nose into Edward’s thick brown hair. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things when you feel you’ve done wrong. You’ve _never_ disappointed me.”

“You’re just saying that to be kind.”

“I mean it, Ed. I don’t think I have it in me to be disappointed in those I love.”

He’d been regarded as a disappointment throughout his childhood, by his parents and his peers and even his teachers, and to never fear being regarded as one by someone whose opinion he valued so highly… he tried not to get emotional, but it was an overwhelmingly freeing feeling to know, no matter what he did, Oswald would never be disappointed with him.

“That means a lot to me,” he managed to say, taking shallow breaths to keep his composure under control.

“Edward, are you alright?”

“Yes. Please don’t worry. I’m okay. I’m just happy.”

“You…” Oswald examined him intently. “You’re a very odd man, Edward Nygma.”

“I know,” said Edward, laughing hoarsely. “Quite an enigma, I’m told.” He brought his hands to Oswald’s chest, laying them flat against his collarbones and dancing his fingers over the pale skin there. “I feel _incredibly_ lucky right now.”

Oswald arched an eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t say that, all things considered. Withdrawal is an _excruciating_ experience. You’re going to have to take a few days off work.”

“But I’m leading expansion of the docks tomorrow.”

“It’ll have to be postponed. You’re in no condition to lead those men. They can use this time to do another scout of the area.” Oswald reached down for Edward’s shirt buttons. “Want this off?” When Edward nodded, he easily popped them free and dragged Edward’s shirt over his shoulders and back, tossing it to the floor. Disorientated though he was, it didn’t escape Edward’s notice that this was the least clothing they’d ever worn while in bed together.

“When I injured my leg, I found massages helped,” said Oswald. “I’ll find someone who can provide therapeutic massages and locate a better painkiller, one that won’t leave you like, er. This.”

That didn’t sound so bad. Ed had never received a massage before, but he’d heard enough good things about them to find the idea appealing. “Alright, but only two days. That’s the most I can manage.”

Oswald shook his head. “Ed, you’ve been working every day for _months_. Even if this hadn’t happened, you _needed_ to take a break. You would have burned yourself out eventually.”

Edward was having trouble thinking of a retort. Failing that, he decided to turn the suggestion on Oswald. “What about you? You’ve been working just as many hours.”

“I don’t tire quite as easily, you know that.” Oswald frowned. “Is that why you’ve been working so much? To keep up with me?”

“Not just me,” he said, because he was far from the only person among Oswald’s inner circle who had complained of fatigue, and then quickly shut his mouth. He didn’t want to elaborate for fear Oswald would work slower in response. The city needed a fast, hardworking mayor, and he didn’t anyone – least of all himself - to be an obstacle to that.

Despite his efforts, Oswald had come to his own conclusions. “We seem to be saying this an awful lot tonight, but I’m sorry. I should have realized I was pushing everyone beyond their physical and mental capabilities.” He slid a finger over Edward’s lips to forestall interruption. “I’ll hire more people. That should even things up a bit.”

Edward anxiety eased. “I can host the interviews.”

“After you’ve had a few days’ rest.”

“Three days will suffice.”

“Four, and I’ll allow you to consider today one of those days.”

Edward didn’t think he was going to get a better deal than that. “Very well, but I expect you to keep me company for at least one.”

This time Oswald opened his mouth to protest, and Edward put a finger to _his_ lips.

“If I have to take a break, so do you.”

* * *

While the massages helped ease Edward’s pain, the newfound clarity this in combination with the reduction of painkillers provided him made him notice new things about Oswald. For example, Oswald was not a very versatile man. His professional work and personal life were intimately intertwined and it made his favouritism of Edward very overt. This was something Edward had enjoyed, once upon a time, and truth be told, he still did enjoy it to some degree, but he could tell Oswald’s behaviour was having an impact upon citizen morale, particularly on the men and women who were required to interact with Oswald on a daily basis for their given role.

He’d already offered Oswald advice regarding how he treated Edward in public, (as had Jake, who was something of a voice of reason among their group nowadays), but it didn’t seem as though Oswald had taken any of it to heart.

So he would try, try again, and hopefully this time he would get through to Oswald. When he entered Oswald’s office that evening, the first thing out of his mouth was, “You’re acting like a schoolboy with his first crush, you know.”

Oswald glanced up at him, his hands spread across a scattering of rough blueprints for a greenhouse. Construction on that would begin the moment they acquired enough glass panels for the job. “Oh, Edward. How’s the leg?”

Oswald was clearly evading the topic, but unfortunately for him, that wouldn’t work on Edward. Unlike his other employees, Ed didn’t drop a subject at the slightest hint of resistance. He was no ‘yes man’. “Better, thank you for asking. The massages and new medication are working wonders. I’m going to have to arrange flowers or something for Rowena for arranging the latter for me.”

He closed the door behind himself.

“But none of that is why I’m here. I repeat: You’re acting like a schoolboy with a crush, and people are noticing. You need to tone it down before we have another _Butch_ on our hands.”

Oswald offered him a smile. “Perhaps I’m doing that because you _are_ my first crush, Ed.”

For a moment, Edward was too shocked to respond. He knew he had a purpose for being in Oswald’s office, but suddenly he couldn’t quite remember what it was. “I am?”

“Yes,” said Oswald. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. Not a single person. Honestly, I had wondered if I ever would.”

“I see,” was all Edward offered in reply. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to take this news. It was surprising enough to find out his best friend was in love with him, but to then find out he was his best friend’s _first_ love?

Oswald examined Edward’s vacant expression with a furrowed brow. His smile slowly descended into a frown.

“Do you not believe me? I’m being completely honest,” Oswald insisted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever been in love with.”

“It’s not that,” he said quickly. “I’m just… at a loss for words, I suppose.”

It would have been a lovely, poetic moment had he been able to tell Oswald that Oswald was his first love as well, but alas, he’d already fallen in love twice. Oswald wasn’t his first _anything_. Not his first kiss, his first love, or the first person he’d have had sex with, assuming they ever got around to that. He was gripped by a sudden urgency to be Oswald first _something_ , because it wasn’t fair on Oswald that he didn’t get something _unsullied_ from Edward.

He was silent for a long moment, and then it occurred to him that he could be Oswald’s first husband. He blurted out: “Let’s get married,” and immediately felt foolish for having suggested such a thing; what was the point in getting married now? There was no government to recognize their coupling and he doubted any priest would want to sanction a union between two men, anyway.

“You- you want to get married?” stammered Oswald.

Edward touched a few fingers to his face, which was beginning to feel a little warm. “I, er… I mean… I’m not opposed to the idea, but it was a rather… thoughtless suggestion. I mean, is there any point in such a ceremony when there’s no one around to give it official recognition?”

“We don’t need that! I’m the mayor! I can make this happen!” Oswald abruptly closed his mouth, turning his gaze to his desk. He didn’t seem able to meet Edward’s eye as he resumed speaking. “I-if you truly want to be married to me, that is. I don’t want you to feel pressured to agree to marriage just because I’m so enthused by the idea. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.” Edward inhaled sharply, trying to gather his wits. His head was spinning from the suddenness of it all. And to think, _he’d_ been the one to suggest it. “You’ve given me so much, Oswald. I want to give something back, even if it’s only my hand in marriage.”

Oswald’s eyes were looking rather watery. “That’s the most valuable thing you could have possibly offered me.”

Edward turned his face away, taking a moment to compose himself. His ribs were starting to hurt from how hard his heart was beating and there was a tremble in his fingers.

Oswald always managed to break his composure. He supposed he’d have to get used to that since they were to be wed.

“We don’t need a big ceremony,” he told Oswald, who looked mildly dismayed by this comment. “I’d rather it just be us and our friends. Jake, Rowena, Martin – Max could be the ring bearer. It’ll be safer that way and we’ll use less supplies.”

“That’s reasonable, I suppose.” Oswald sounded reluctant. He’d probably envisioned a hand-picked choir and every church pew filled to the brim with Gotham’s citizens to witness them as they walked down the aisle. Edward wished he could have fulfilled that fantasy, but it simply wasn’t feasible. They didn’t even know if the citizens of Gotham would be willing to accept such a union.

“It’ll be much nicer, I promise,” said Edward, coming to stand before Oswald’s desk. “And speaking of nicer, that was an _awful_ way to propose. Allow me to try again.”

Oswald looked faintly amused as Edward maneuvered around the desk and knelt at Oswald’s feet. Once in the traditional proposal position, he reached into a breast pocket and withdrew a small, question mark-shaped cufflink, pinning it to the sleeve of Oswald’s dress shirt. He didn’t have its brother anymore, unfortunately, but it would have to do in the interim.

He ignored the mild ache in his thigh as he smiled up at Oswald. “Oswald Cobblepot, with you marry me?”

“Of course I will, Edward.”

“And Oswald…”

“Yes?”

“We still need to talk about how you treat me in public. You other employees are working _very_ hard and they deserve your attentions as well. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you praise one of them.”

“You make a good point.” Oswald’s shoulders drooped. “Though I had hoped my confession would be enough to distract you. I suppose I should have known you aren’t one to worry about ruining the mood.”

Edward laughed. He laid his head upon Oswald’s knee and let his fingers dance up the thigh of Oswald’s leg. “I think you ought to leave the distracting to _me,_ Mr. Cobblepot.”


	10. Chapter 10

Edward had never wanted to set foot in a school again. It conjured up memories of schoolyard bullies, of being beaten black and blue and pushed face-first into urinals, of being mocked relentlessly with nicknames like ‘Edna’ and ‘Freddie’ (a name a teacher had accidentally referred to him by, and upon seeing his dismay, the other students had decided to adopt). He remembered walking home with bruises on more than one occasion, only to have more bruises layered over them later that night when his father got back from work and into the drink, as he was wont to do. As Edward strode down the dirty hallway with a sack tucked up under his arm, he felt as though he were ten again, skin and bones and dressed in a ratty old sweater and shorts, his undone shoelaces slapping the ground and his worn green sneakers squealing with every step.

Periodically he glanced over at Oswald, who was walking alongside him. He didn’t seem to be fairing much better, his eyes downcast and mouth pressed into a thin line. Martin and Rowena, who had decided to accompany them, were sombre for an entirely different reason, eyeing the empty classrooms with trepidation as they passed. They were probably thinking of all the children that had died as a consequence of the infection, wondering if they would encounter any miniature corpses. Edward wondered too. The children of this school had clearly been evacuated at the time of the outbreak, but he was sure some hadn’t made it out in time, had decided to try their chances hiding on the school grounds instead. If that was the case, he hoped not to come upon them. He didn’t relish the thought of seeing the corpses of children.

But they _had_ to be here, Edward reminded himself. Even if it was unpleasant in every conceivable way, they had no choice. Their school supplies needed to be replaced. The pencils and books and general learning utensils that had been acquired during an earlier excursion only lasted so long in the hands of prepubescent children (the ones given to the teenagers lasted moderately longer), and over the past five months they’d been lost, broken, defaced, or rendered otherwise unusable by little teeth and clumsy grips.

He wasn’t angry at the children for neglecting to take care of them. They were children, after all; they didn’t know any better, but he had to admit, he loathed having to do this, and he didn’t particularly like that they were looking at the prospect of doing this at least twice a year either.

Some things were still usable, such as text books, erasers, and a few pencils, but they would still need to bring in a big haul to make today worth it. To achieve that, he an Oswald had sent out two other groups, one to raid a distant high school and another to empty out a kindergarten. That had left him, Oswald, Rowena, and Martin with the task of gathering supplies from a primary school. Jake had offered to come as well, but that would have left Max with no one to keep an eye on her, so he’d opted to remain home instead.

It wasn’t the closest primary school to their settlement. In fact, it was a good hour away; he’d only chosen it because he had an ulterior motive: he knew there was a jewellery shop on this street and he had every intention of grabbing a pair of rings before they left. He already knew exactly what he wanted: twin rings of pink gold with a sizable emerald in the middle. Oswald had yet to take off the cufflink Edward had given him, which was sweet, but Ed felt a little bit inadequate whenever he saw it. It wasn’t even real gold; it was a cheap alternative, and worst of all, it was chipped on the curve of the question mark, unveiling a fraction of the silver beneath. It simply wasn’t a suitable expression of his love. Oswald needed something he could show off with pride, not an old cufflink Edward had dug out of his breast pocket on a whim.

He wanted it to be a surprise, too. That meant he would have to slip away while Oswald was distracted. This would upset him, no doubt, but Edward would return a few minutes later with the rings and claim he’d gone to the bathroom, then he could unveil the rings when they got home and Oswald would be too overwhelmed with gratitude to be mad. It was an infallible plan.

The thought of how wonderful it would feel to slide that ring onto Oswald’s finger made him momentarily forget all the terrible memories he associated with primary school. He was grinning to himself when they turned into the science laboratory.

“Hey, what’s that grin for?” asked Rowena, nudging him in the side with her elbow. “Got some fond memories of school you’d like to share with the class?”

Edward snapped out of his reverie. He response was automatic and not in the least bit thought out. “Er. Well, I was briefly in the choir as a kid. That was nice, even if I got beat up a lot for it.”

“You can sing?” asked Martin. Oswald looked up, perhaps recalling the night they had played the piano and sung together.

“No,” said Edward. Going by Oswald’s expression, he seemed to disagree, but Edward doubted anyone who didn’t have a bias would have thought he had decent vocals. He’d never received professional training and he’d only spent one year in the choir before deciding to focus his efforts on learning to play the piano instead.

“You sure? Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to think so,” said Martin, glancing between Edward and Oswald with a grin. While he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, Martin had accepted their coupling without question and even with some enthusiasm. Apparently he’d had many a gay customer as a hairdresser and he generally found them to be good company.

Really, the only one who hadn’t taken it in stride was Jake, who’d gone through the typical ‘so, uh, you’re not attracted to me, are you?’ stage upon finding out they were together. It’d taken him a few weeks to get used to it.

“My boyfriend’s opinion is to be ignored. He thinks I’m good at everything,” said Edward.

“Because you are,” insisted Oswald, turning to pull a dusty science book off the teacher’s desk and throw it to the bottom of his sack. “Don’t be modest.”

“Oswald, have you ever known me to be modest?”

“Fair enough.” Oswald laughed and started pilfering items from inside the teacher’s drawers.

Edward noticed a simple black glasses case sitting on their table. The teacher must have been in such a hurry to leave that they hadn’t even thought to bring it. There was even a cleaning cloth in there. It was an odd thing to dwell on, Edward supposed, but he stared at the case for a very long time before it occurred to him that, as someone who wears glasses, it would be useful to him. He dropped it into his sack.

“Looks like you two have this covered, so we’re going to look for math shit,” said Martin, already grabbing Rowena’s arm around the elbow and tugging her toward the door. “Remember to use the newspaper! You’ve gotta wrap that science stuff in at least two pieces!”

“If we need anything, we’ll shout,” said Rowena as she was pulled past the threshold.

Edward started carefully wrapping science equipment – beakers and vials and Bunsen burner and the like – in the aforementioned newspaper they had brought along and gently set them in the bottom of his sack. Oswald meanwhile focused on gathering books and writing utensils, though there wasn’t a lot of either of those in this room. They would probably have better luck when they reached the library.

He went into the supplies closet next and started filling the rest of his sack with everything he could get his hands on, every chemical that looked as though it would be of some use. Even if they weren’t utilized in lessons, he and Rowena could use them for their experiments. Some, he notice, would even be helpful as a medical aid.

When he was finished, he followed Oswald into the adjacent room. It was your standard classroom, so they didn’t find much in there except erasers and pencils and a few reusable pencil cases. In the next classroom, they found a bounty of pencil packets, erasers, books and even a bunch of copies of Catcher in the Rye. Must have been their most recent assignment. Edward threw every single copy into his sack. While the book wasn’t his personal favourite, it was a classic, and those ought to be preserved.

He’d gathered everything he wanted to from this room, but Oswald seemed too preoccupied with filling his sack with scissors and glue sticks to notice. This, Edward felt, was a perfect opportunity to slip out unnoticed, possibly one of the few opportunities he would have that day. Oswald was usually very aware of his surroundings and especially of Edward.

He quietly lowered his sack to the floor and tip-toed his way across the room. Oswald was still rifling around in the supplies cupboard when he reached the exit, and he spared him a cursory glance before stepping out. He didn’t run down the hallway. He moved at a fast walk, eager to get his objective done.

He passed a room in which Rowena and Martin were heatedly discussing the need for improvements to their curriculum and made a mental note to weigh in on that later. When he reached the front doors, he passed through them without incident. Oswald hadn’t noticed he was gone yet, clearly, or he would have heard Oswald yelling after him.

It was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders once he was outside. The memories of his turbulent childhood were banished to the far recesses of his mind and thoughts of a brighter future rose to replace them. He’d always loved the idea of getting married, even as a young boy. He hadn’t been like the others, scared of cooties and commitment and the like. He’d always relished the thought of one day finding his soulmate and spending every day of his life with them until they were old and grey. Having grown up without parental love, he supposed he’d found the idea of someone _choosing_ to love him despite his parents’ complete dismissal of him an appealing prospect.  

A wistful smile curved his mouth as he jogged his way through the front yard and to the footpath.

Soon he’d be a married man. Mister Edward Cobblepot. He liked how it sounded.

Though the street appeared devoid of hostiles, Edward still kept his shotgun at the ready, fingers resting on the trigger. Oswald had recently taught him to use it properly. Turns out he’d been holding it wrong the entire time (which he could hardly be blamed for, mind you! He’d never even held a shotgun prior to arriving on the farm).

It was a lovely warm day with the sun high up in a cloudless blue sky, but its presence did little to alleviate the queerness of walking down a deserted city street. Edward had never done this on his own. He couldn’t help but notice every little sound, every little rustle of leaves and whine of some distant animal, perhaps a bird or racoon. A few shops had ‘closed’ signs on them, and a few others had their doors wide open. It didn’t look as though anyone had raided this street for supplies yet.

When he reached the jewellery store, he didn’t dawdle by picking the front door; he smashed open the window with the butt of his gun and climbed over the display cases, careful to avoid catching any sin on the spray of glass crunching beneath his feet. He didn’t have to worry about an alarm going off. This section of the city had lost its power sometime in the last few months, and with no crew to go out and fix whatever issue had caused the blackout, it had remained off since then. Their settlement might have been among the places to lose power had they not taken in some power-station maintenance savvy men and women over the last few months. Whenever issues arose, they would venture out to see what was wrong, and the issue would usually be taken care of within a day or two. Considering how difficult it must have been to deal with problems with a crew of only three, he had to commend them for their hard work.

He pocketed a few bracelets and necklaces before proceeding to the ring section of the store. They would be a nice little gift for Max, who had been working very hard lately to catch up on the studies she’d missed while living at the farm. Her parents had tried to provide education during that time, of course, but they hadn’t been able to remember enough about primary school to give her structured lessons. Fortunately they had a few qualified teachers among their populace. They were invaluable when it came to tutoring their forty-something underage residents.

He bent over the ring display case and squinted down at the emerald offerings. There was a lot of gold, silver… not a lot of pink-gold, which he thought would work best with his rock of choice. He tried a few of them on to gauge the accuracy of his measurements before deciding to hop the cases and take a glance into the back.

He seemed to have had good luck with measuring his own ring finger, but he didn’t know if that would be the case with Oswald, having only had a few opportunities to do a visual measure. Perhaps he’d take two of the same ring, just in case. He didn’t want to have gone through all this effort for nothing.

The back had everything he was looking for. Hundreds upon hundreds of rings, each separated by size and stone. He found a ring he was interested in almost immediately and slipped it onto his ring finger, giving it a long examination in what little sunlight streamed in from the door. While he’d never been one for jewellery, he could appreciate a nice, big stone. Not too big, though; he wasn’t going for ostentatious. He wanted the ring to be practical to wear in their busy day to day lives.

It took him a little longer to select an appropriate ring for Oswald. He wrangled with the idea of getting him a bigger, better ring than his own, before deciding an exact duplicate of the one he’d chosen for himself would be more romantic. With the rings deftly tucked away in his trench coat pocket, he left the store to resume pilfering supplies from the primary school.

The first thing he saw when he arrived back at the school was Oswald standing on the entrance steps, visibly panicked.

Crap.

Oswald spotted him before he could make a detour. “Edward!” he called, leaping down the steps and barrelling up the footpath to fling himself into Edward’s arms. He almost bowled Edward over with the force of his hug. “You just- you disappeared! I was so worried!”

“Oh, you didn’t need to. I was just, uh. Going to the – for a – the bathroom.” God, he was awful at lying, and it was clear by Oswald’s expression that he wasn’t pulling the wool over his eyes.

“You were going to the… for a… the bathroom?” Oswald repeated slowly.

Edward opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it and nodded instead. He couldn’t talk himself into a corner if he didn’t talk.

“I suppose I don’t need to tell you that sounds suspiciously like a lie.”

Edward offered him a wavering smile.

Oswald withdrew, hands lingering on Edward’s sides. “And now you’re staying quiet because you know you’re a terrible liar.”

Oswald really knew him too well.

“I can’t tell you,” he blurted out. “It’d ruin it.”

“Ruin what?” asked Oswald.

 “I’ve said too much,” he murmured, diverting his eyes so he didn’t have to look into that intense icy blue. He was going to break any moment now, he just knew it. Oh, why hadn’t he entered from the back instead? Then he could have snuck in and pretended to have been in the toilets the entire time.

Oswald gently forced his gaze back around to his face. “And you’re about to say _more_. Whatever it is, there’s no point in trying to hide it from me _now_.”

Oswald was right. He visibly deflated, reaching into his breast pocket to hand Oswald the twin emerald rings.

“I hope this is the right size. I have another one if it doesn’t fit.”

Once in his palm, all Oswald did was stare at the rings for several long seconds. Edward feared he’d chosen rings Oswald didn’t particularly like until Oswald started to blink rapidly, wiping away tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I didn’t think my taste in rings was that bad,” he joked, drawing Oswald into his chest and stroking his dark hair while he wept.

“Sorry, I’m – I’m always getting overemotional, aren’t I.” He sniffed loudly. “I just never imagined anyone would do this for me.”

“It’s okay,” murmured Edward. “I like that about you. “

Oswald burrowed into his chest, looking incredibly small in the thick folds of his trench coat. “You like that I’m overemotional?”

“I like that you don’t shy away from expressing how you feel.” Edward pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his head. “I can be too controlled, I know that; sometimes I come off as cold, so I find it admirable that you can be so genuine.”  

“I don’t find you cold,” murmured Oswald. “You’re the most genuine, caring man I’ve ever met.”

“That’s very sweet, Oswald, but I think you have something of a bias, being my fiancé and all.”

Oswald laughed wetly. “True enough, but I stand by my words.” After drying his face on Edward’s coat, Oswald slid a palm to the nape of Edward’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss, one of many they had exchanged since the day of Tetch’s execution. By now his lips were familiar in their texture and temperature. He’d felt them on his mouth, his shoulder, his back, his hand. Oswald seemed to love kissing now that he had done it once, and he rarely restricted his expressions of affection to the conventional.

Which was probably why he pressed a kiss to Edward’s shoulder a moment later, breathing a deep sigh of contentment.

“They’re beautiful rings, by the way,” said Oswald, unfurling his hand and returning the rings to Edward’s breast pocket. He pushed them down into the depths of the pocket with a thumb.

“I’m relieved you think so. I’ve never even purchased jewellery before.”

“I’ve… acquired jewellery as a gift for my mother a few times,” said Oswald, and Edward noted the use of ‘acquired’ rather than ‘purchased’. “Never bought it for myself. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, buy jewellery for yourself. Seems like something someone should give you, doesn't it?”

“Don’t say that,” said Edward, chuckling. “I bought one of these rings for myself!”

“I’ll just have to get you more jewellery myself then, won’t I?”

“As long you don’t expect me to wear it in public.”

“Are you saying you’d be happy to wear jewellery for me in private?”

“Well…”

The doors to the school opened with a crash. They both leapt in place, snapping their heads around to see Martin and Rowena hobbling through with bulging sacks of supplies.

“You two! Your sacks aren’t even close to being full! What’d you think you’re doing?” demanded Rowena.

“Aw, look, I think they’re having a _moment_ ,” said Martin, grinning from ear to ear. “You two are fuckin’ adorable, you know that?”

Edward quickly dislodged Oswald from his waist, much to Oswald’s dismay. For a moment, he’d completely forgotten their primary reason for being there. “We got side-tracked, but if you take those to the limo, we’ll be there shortly with our own.”

“Are they going to be full?” asked Rowena.

“To the very top,” Oswald assured her.

“Alright,” said Rowena, though she continued to examine them from the entrance. “We might as well go to the library and grab some books, then. We’ll meet you back at the car when we’re done.” She gestured for them to hurry back inside, and they did, jogging up the steps to re-enter the building. “I’d better see full sacks when you return!”

“Of course,” said Edward, and he felt rather like a child who’d been caught shirking his chores.

“See you two later,” called Martin as he and Rowena headed for the opposite of the campus. “Don’t let Ro’s grumpiness get you down! She’s always like this!”

“Well, _one_ of us needs to act like a responsible adult and it doesn’t seem like _you’re_ going to be the one to do that.”

“ _Ouch_ , Ro’.”

Their conversation faded to an unintelligible murmur as he and Oswald started their way back to the classroom in which they’d left their sacks. When they finally retrieved them, he realized they weren’t even half-way full yet; it’d been stupid to promise Rowena they’d be able to return to the limo ‘shortly’.

“Now would be a great time to find the main storage room,” he told Oswald, heaving his sack over his shoulder. “We should try the principal’s office.”

“Why would it be in there?” asked Oswald.

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it? And perhaps their supplies closet is on record somewhere.”

They dragged their sacks past classrooms and lockers, some of which were hanging open, and to a door marked with the words ‘Principles Office’ in large, black letters. It was unlocked. They let themselves inside and glanced around at the surprisingly spartan contents of the room. There weren’t any supplies available, as they had hoped, but they did find a log containing all the orders made by the school and where they were stored. The main storage room, it turned out, was attached to the gymnasium.

“Odd place for a storage shed,” said Edward as they hurried through the school.

“Oh, I’ve seen worse. My school used to keep everything in an old underground shelter. They didn’t want the space to go to waste.”

Edward eyed him. “Did you ever get locked down there?”

Oswald frown was answer enough for him. “You’re quite good at reading people sometimes, aren’t you.”

“I’m your fiancé. I ought to be good at reading you.”

The contents of the room probably would have been what a pirate would call ‘a treasure trove’, assuming that the pirate collected pencils, erasers, text books and rulers instead of pretty trinkets and coin. Oswald filled his sack right up to the top, while Edward left a reasonable gap so he wouldn’t struggle to carry it back to the limousine.

Their conversation resumed on the way back. “I used to get locked in small spaces too," he told Oswald. “I got locked in the equipment shed for five hours once.”

Oswald’s frown finally faded. “We really are birds of a feather, aren’t we.”

“I'd need to be a bird for that to apply," said Edward. "So, what bird am I, Mr. Penguin?"

Oswald laughed. “An owl, of course.” He offered Edward a goofy smile. “One of the fluffy ones.”

They arrived at the limousine to Rowena and Martin sitting on the hood with paper bags full of drinks. It looked like they’d taken a detour while he and Oswald were otherwise occupied.  

“These are for after dinner,” said Rowena, hopping off the hood to slide into the driver’s seat.

Martin leaned in to whisper to them. “Unless you wanna try some before then. I’ll give you a shot with the glasses we have in the back; it’s the good stuff. The stuff that costs like, a thousand fucking dollars. You’ll definitely want to drink it before Jake hogs it all.”

“I’d be more worried about _you_ drinking it all,” murmured Oswald.

Martin scoffed. “Just for that, you aren’t gonna get any.”

“I think I can live with that, considering I have trouble consuming most liquids.”

“Oh, fuck! Yeah.” Martin laughed sheepishly. “Sometimes I forget.”

Oswald impatiently gestured for Martin to hop into the back of the limousine, and Martin obliged immediately. The man had a personality like a Doberman when he wasn’t swearing every other sentence.

Edward followed suit, throwing in the sack of supplies and sliding to Martin’s side. Oswald was next to enter, dropping his sack into a corner before sitting down and closing the door.

“By the way,” started Edward. “I have some thoughts regarding our education curriculum. I know just where we need improvements.”

And that began a discussion that lasted the entire journey home and beyond. By the end of the discussion, which came some hours after they'd retired to the mess hall for lunch, they’d decided they needed to assign a principle and host longer and more varied physical education lessons. At some point, they would need to introduce the use of weapons into that particular lesson, to ensure the children would be able to protect themselves in the future.

It wasn’t an idea Rowena liked, but it was one she acknowledged the necessity of.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get much feedback on that last chapter, so... if you don't like the direction the fic is going, or there are areas I need to improve upon, please do let me know!

While Max didn’t fully comprehend what a wedding was and what it signified, she seemed to know enough about them to be enthusiastic. Since hearing the news of their engagement, she had been talking non-stop about the weddings she’d seen on television, what she was going to wear, getting to carry the rings down the aisle and decorating the ceremony room with rose petals. She babbled about it to Jake endlessly, which probably helped warm him to the idea of them being wed. Edward didn’t have the heart to tell her it would be a very modest affair.

They were to host the wedding in the local church, the one on the corner of their main street, a fortnight from now. They would have their relationship recognized by not a priest, but someone still qualified to perform weddings – someone Rowena had introduced them to shortly after they had lamented to her about having no one able to officiate their wedding. It was to be a small, short wedding; he and Oswald would wear tuxedos and say their own personalized vows, and after a kiss and some photographs they would attend a private lunch in the courtyard. Catering would be provided by the kitchen staff of the mansion. All and all, not the most impressive wedding one could have, and certainly not the most impressive _Oswald_ could have had, but it was the meaning behind it that mattered most, wasn’t it? They were vowing to stay together till death do them part. That meant more than the fanciest, most expensive wedding in the world. Or at least, Edward hoped that was how Oswald felt about it, because he couldn’t conceived of how they would do a larger wedding while still keeping their affairs private.

To stop himself from overthinking their plans and stop himself from becoming a ‘bridezilla’ as a consequence, he would find a distraction whenever he realized he was dwelling on his inadequacies. Fortunately, Max was very good providing such distractions. Currently she was providing one in the form of a fashion show to decide which dress she would wear at the wedding. Edward had never been much of a fashionista, as one might have guessed from the incorrectly sized slacks and muted colours he’d worn prior to meeting Oswald, so for the most part, all he offered were compliments and the occasional bout of clapping. Jake, surprisingly, seemed to have more to say, though it was all predictably cutesy and positive.

Half-way through the fashion show, while Max was in the changing room, Jake leaned over to speak to him. “Hey, uh, Ed.” He nervously fiddled with his jacket sleeves. “Listen, I’ve… I’ve been meaning to apologize for how I acted when I found out about you and Oswald.”

One of Edward’s thin eyebrows made a slow arch. He’d never gotten the impression Jake was embarrassed by what he’d said, but here he was, pink-faced and staring down at his hands. “It’s alright,” he said, because honestly, he’d thought Jake had taken it quite well.

“It’s great that you’re so chill about it, but man… it was so stupid.” He sighed. “When Rowena found out what I said, she gave me an earful, and she was right to do it. I’ve just never had a gay man as a friend before, so I wasn’t really sure how to act.”

“I do still like women.”

“How can you still like women if you’re getting married to a guy?” Jake grimaced as soon as he’d finished speaking. “Don’t answer that. I realized how stupid it sounded as I said it.”

“It’s okay, really,” said Edward. Jake was lucky he was speaking to him rather than Oswald, because Oswald wouldn’t have had the patience for this conversation. “If you have questions, I don’t mind answering them. I appreciate that you’re taking an interest in my life.”

“Thanks,” said Jake, sounding relieved. “Actually, I do have something else I wanted to ask, but it’s not related to your – uh – sexuality or anything.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve heard Oswald muttering about wishing his mom was around to see him be wed, so I was wondering if you’d like us – me and Martin and a few of the guys, I mean – to go out and grab something from your homes? Like, I don’t know, photographs or urns or something, so they can be at the wedding in spirit.” He leaned in to speak in a whisper. “Just between you and me, I think Oswald believes in ghosts.”

That was news to Edward, and he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. Oswald seemed too rational a man to give any credence to the existence of ghosts. “I wasn’t aware. Either way, I imagine he’d appreciate having some memorabilia of his mother present at the wedding. I can provide you with the location of his mansion if you don’t mind going such a distance.”

“No, no, that’d be fine!” said Jake. “What about you? Did you want us to grab something from your home?”

“No.” He emphasised this by shaking his head. “My family are the last people I’d want at my wedding, even ‘in spirit’. None of them are worth the effort.”

Jake’s expression turned pitying. “They didn’t reject you because of… you know, being a guy who likes other guys, did they?”

Edward almost laughed; a guy who likes other guys? He didn’t seem to know the existence of the word ‘bisexual’. “Oh, no, he wasn’t around long enough to find out about my preferences, and for future reference, that whole ‘bad relationship with our parents, especially out fathers’ thing is very much a stereotype. It doesn’t apply to everyone, especially Oswald. He and his parents got along extremely well before their untimely deaths.”

“That’s nice to hear. That they got along well, I mean,” said Jake. “I didn’t have a great relationship with my own dad, so it’d be silly if I thought that sort of thing was exclusive to gay men.” Jake’s gaze drifted up as he reminisced. “He didn’t hit me or anything, though that was common during the time I was born, but he didn’t tell me he loved me once my entire life. I found out after he died he had a little shrine dedicated to my accomplishments, which was a bittersweet moment.”

Edward wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to this. He tried for a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. He was a product of his age, I suppose.”

“Yeah, definitely,” agree Jake. He didn’t seem at all bothered by Edward’s reticence. “After growing up with a dad like that, I’m always telling Max how much I love her. I don’t want her to ever question whether or not her dad loves her like I did with my dad.”

“You’re a great dad and a good man,” said Edward. “Better than most men I’ve had in my life.”

“Yeah? Thanks, Ed. That means a lot coming from you.” He cleared his throat. “So what were-?”

The sound of curtains being drawn drew their gazes back to the little stage they’d set up for Max. She came waltzing down it, swaggering her hips like a model and flipping her strawberry blonde hair. She was in the beautiful emerald green dress Edward had fished out of a nearby Macys. He clapped especially hard for this outfit, as it was the one he hoped to see her in at the wedding.

Max beamed at them from the end of the stage. “You really like this one, huh Ed?”

“It looks wonderful on you,” he crowed. “The best one yet.”

“You look _stunning_ , petal!” said Jake.

Her cheeks pinked with delight. “Mom grabbed a dress just like this in a lighter green! Hang on, I’ll put it on!” And with that, she turned on her heels and dashed back down the walkway, slipping into the changing room.

“Looks good in anything, doesn’t she,” said Jake with pride. He was still clapping. “Rowena’s gonna put Max’s hair in a bun on the day of the wedding. She looks _adorable_ with a bun. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.” Edward was already smiling at the thought. He’d never much liked children, but Max seemed to be the rare exception that could turn him to putty.

“So, what was it you were going to ask me?”

“Oh, right.” Jake’s clapping abruptly stopped. He turned to better face Edward, his voice slow and hesitating. “It… it might be a bit personal, if that’s okay?”

Edward regarded him curiously. “Go ahead.”

Jake’s forehead developed nervous lines, which gave Edward the impression he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. “You can tell me to shut it if I’m being too nosy, but what were your parents like? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about any of your family. Were they really that bad?” The nervous lines dragged into the sides of his mouth, pulling his lips into a tight frown. “You don’t have to tell me if they were. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d rather keep it private. I just… if you ever wanted to talk about it, I’m told I’m a good listener.”

Edward was quiet. He could hear Max struggling with her zipper in the back room, and if he left to help her, he wouldn’t have to answer Jake’s question. He could pretend it’d never come up.

…But that would be rather cowardly, wouldn’t it, to run away from the mere thought of describing the sort of upbringing he’d had?

The only problem was, it was hard for him to put his thoughts into words, especially in regards to his parents. His mind got all muddled up when he thought about them.

“That’s difficult to answer,” he said quietly.

Jake’s hands shot up in a panic. “That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me! God, I’m really sorry, I thought I was being helpful.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, I can tell you.” He swallowed, already starting to regret his decision. “I can tell you about my father, at least; I don’t remember as much about my mother since she left when I was eight. I just… I need a moment to come up with a comprehensive answer.” At times like these, he wished he were better at understanding his own feelings. They were just as undecipherable as other people’s feelings, at times.

After a short period of silence, he finally spoke. “Well, when I was ten, I got sick with a cold,” he began, because a story was the only way he could think to describe what living with a man like his father had been like. “My mother had walked out on us by that time, so it was my dad who looked after me. He was nicer to me then than he’d ever been in my entire life.” He eyed Jake, just to make sure the man was still following along. To his surprise, he was staring at Edward with rapt attention. He’d never imagined his upbringing could be this interesting to someone.

“So I… I was a smart kid, or at least, I knew a lot of things the other kids didn’t. I knew, for example, how to poison myself without endangering my life. I stole some drugs from the medicine cabinet and made myself sick, and my dad looked after me again, and it was really nice, so I kept on doing it.”

“Jesus.” Jake had gone pale.

“He found out eventually. Saw the empty drug packets under my bed and realized what I’d been doing, why I had been so sick the last few weeks.” Edward throat was starting to tighten. He scratched at it, willing himself to continue. “He accused me of using the drugs to skip school and beat me until I… I ‘confessed’ to that, then forced me to go to school. It was a stupid idea, in retrospect. I suppose I brought it upon myself.”

This was the first time Edward had spoken of his father to another person, and he felt strangely hollow, like someone had dug out everything inside of him and made no effort to replace what they’d taken. He should have been sad, horrified; wasn’t that what people were supposed to feel when they faced these things? But there was no grief. He felt nothing. He didn’t even feel like he was in his own body.

Maybe this was why it had been so easy to accept Kristen’s death. Maybe there was something irrevocably wrong with him, a damage inflicted by his father that would never heal.

“I ended up running away and never turning back when I was sixteen. Got emancipated and enrolled in a new school. I don’t think he ever went looking for me, not that I blame him.”

He suddenly realized Jake’s arms were around his shoulders, his broad chest warm against Edward’s forehead.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you recall that,” Jake murmured into his hair.

“It’s…” Edward blinked rapidly. He was having trouble articulating his thoughts, few though there were.

“If you’re gonna say ‘it’s okay’, it’s not. What you went through… god, Ed, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Edward slowly dragged his hands up Jake’s back, allowing himself to be embraced. Being held was always a nice feeling.

“You know, Rowena and I worked with troubled kids a while back. We were struggling to conceive and letting other people’s kids into our lives helped us cope with that,” Jake continued. He stroked soothing circles between Edward’s shoulder blades. “It was a foster home program. We received so many kids with stories just like yours, and some of them only stayed a few months, while others stayed for years, and all of these kids, if we managed to get them to open up, admitted to struggling with self-loathing. They felt abandoned and unlovable. They were afraid to let anyone get close. We had to fight tooth and nail to make them feel like they were worth something, even just a little bit. But you, Ed, you had to claw and drag _yourself_ out of that situation, all on your own. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.” Edward felt moisture gathering in his eyes. He wiped them with his palms, taking shallow breaths. “I want to tell you what I told them: what your father did to you was _heinous_. You were a child, doing what a child thought was right; you didn’t deserve _anything_ he did to you. Not a damn thing. You weren’t hurt because there was something wrong with you, something that made you unlovable; you were hurt because you were vulnerable and he took advantage of that.”

Edward wanted to say thank you, because no one had ever said such a thing to him before, but he found it impossible to speak, his throat too tight to speech. He nodded against Jake’s chest.

“Oswald is a really lucky guy, you know. You’re incredibly smart and talented and loyal. I bet you’d jump in the way of a bullet to save his life, huh? He’s so lucky to have a guy like you, Ed.”

Edward managed a wavering smile. He’d jump in the way of a violent, brickshit house of a man, that was for certain.

Jake returned the smile and slowly withdrew his arms, thougt he allowed Edward to continue propping himself up against his chest. “You gonna be alright, kid? Do you wanna put this fashion show on hold and head back?”

Edward gave a quick shake of his head. “I’m – I’m twenty eight,” he croaked.

“You’re young enough to be my kid, so you’re a kid.”

Edward chuckled wetly. “I am? I thought you were in your forties.”

“I am in my forties. I’ll be forty seven next year – oh, she’s out! Finally!”

Edward wiped his eyes on his sleeves, turning to watch as Max emerged from the dressing room in the light green dress she’d spoken of. It really was very pretty, more so than the dress Edward had selected. It shone beautifully beneath the overhead light.

But Max’s eagerness to present the dress seemed to be forgotten when she spotted Edward hunched over against her father’s chest. She dashed across the catwalk and leapt off the end, throwing her arms around Edward’s waist.

“Why are you sad, Ed? Did you hurt yourself? Daddy, is Ed okay?”

“He’s fine, petal. He’s just a little tired, aren’t you Ed?”

Edward nodded, faintly embarrassed as he reached down to dislodge Max’s arms. He smoothed down the front of her dress. “I’m okay now. You can go back to putting on your show.”

“Are you sure?” asked Max. “If you wanna sleep for a while, I don’t mind. I know what it’s like to be so tired that you cry.” She laid her chin upon his knee. “One time we went to Australia and the plane was late, so I didn’t get to sleep until midnight, and I was so tired while we were waiting that I cried and tried to sleep on the waiting seats!”

There was something soothing about listening to a child babble on about child problems. “How awful.”

“It was! But I got a little package full of colour pencils and a toy on the plane, and they let me have hot chocolate and timtams to help me sleep, so that wasn’t so bad.”

“She only got the hot chocolate and timtams because she kept pressing the call button,” Jake scowled.

“I didn’t know what it did!”

Jake scoffed. “Likely story.”

Edward’s listened to them squabble back and forth and his tension slowly started to drain away. All that horrible, all-encompassing emptiness was started to recede. He curled his hands into fists and he felt the skin tighten around his knuckles and warmth flood to his palms. When he closed his eyes, he noticed a stinging behind his eyelids. His cheeks were warm and wet. These were grounding sensations, and he clung onto them, using them to anchor himself back in reality.

“Hey Ed.”

He peeled open his eyes to look at Jake.

“Let’s go home and grab a beer. And before you protest, Max already knows what dress she wants.”

“Oh?” Edward gazed down at her. “Which one?”

“This one!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet to give the folds of her beautiful green dress a twirl.

* * *

The wedding was mere days away. Ed was getting antsy, regularly dropping in on the church to make sure everything was as perfect as it could possibly be. He must have dusted off the same pews and re-arranged the same beds of flowers flanking the stage over a dozen times by now, and still he entered the building every couple of hours to make sure everything was pristine and perfect. Had Oswald known how finicky he was being, he was sure it would have concerned him, but he simply couldn’t help himself.

Oswald, for his part, seemed to be more concerned with how his vows sounded. There were dozens of rough drafts scattered across their bedroom desk, which Edward had resisted the temptation to peek at. Meanwhile, despite the lingering self-consciousness from the bullying he’d experienced at the GCPD and how hard Edward found it to articulate his feelings, Edward had finished writing his within a few days. It hadn’t taken him long to come up with vows he thought conveyed the intensity of his love for Oswald.

He supposed they were both dealing with the stress of arranging a wedding in their own way. Small though it was to be, there would always be some stress associated with marriage, if only because both parties wanted it to be a day without blemish. They certainly didn’t want to be the _cause_ of that blemish, which seemed to be Oswald’s primary concern.

Honestly, between preparing the wedding, overseeing the construction of a greenhouse, working on the cure, receiving treatment for his leg and arm, and his other general Chief of Staff duties, visiting the church for touch-ups was the only ‘me’ time he really got, so it wasn’t all bad. At least when he was dusting down the pews he had a few moments to examine his thoughts and feelings.

But today, his ‘me’ time was interrupted by Oswald bursting through the doors and hop-running his way up the aisle, heading straight for Edward. 

“Ed, we have an issue in dire need of addressing!”

It took Edward a second to respond, startled as he was. “What is it?”

“Me.”

Oh, he _knew_ that voice. He _hated_ that voice.

Edward turned to the church entrance to find Jim Gordon standing at the threshold, looking worse for wear, dishevelled and dirty, but as ready to dole out justice as he’d ever been. His hand was on the butt of his pistol.

“Jimbo.” He regarded him with distaste. “If you’re here for shelter, I’m sorry to say – ah, no, actually, I’m not at all sorry to say that I don’t particularly relish the idea of permitting you to live here after you left me to rot in Arkham.”

“A sentiment I share,” said Oswald. “But he was quite insistent that I let him in to speak with us. Mentioned something about ‘forcing’ his way in if I didn’t open the gate.”

“Did you, now? We don’t accept people with such neanderthalic tendencies into our settlement. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t mindlessly shoot poor Oswald upon seeing him.”

“I probably would have,” Jim admitted, and he didn’t sound as though he would have been terribly guilty about it. “But they refused me entrance until his… circumstances were explained.” His gaze settled on Edward. “So you’re developing a cure? Didn’t know you had it in you to be that decent.”

“It’s not _about_ being decent,” he spat. “It’s about _preserving_ the human race. It’s about _survival_. What did you think I would do? Let the human race go extinct out of spite?”

Jim’s expression told him that was _exactly_ what he’d thought Edward would do. “I assume you’re not doing it alone. Chemistry isn’t your speciality.”

“I have enough education in it to manage,” he said with a sniff. “Chemistry was a unit in my advanced forensic science diploma, but I also pursued it out of general interest.”

“So you’re not doing it alone.”

“No, but what does _that_ have to do with anything? Are you trying to get friendly? Trying to coerce me into letting you live here?”

Everything about Jim screamed exasperation. “If you’re done assuming I _want_ to be within ten yards of either of you, I’m here to tell you that there _are_ people – again, _not_ me – looking to live here.”

“Who?” asked Oswald and Edward in unison. They exchanged a glance.

“Bullock? Doctor Li?” Edward went on to ask. “Do you think I want them here anymore than I want you here?”

“A doctor _would_ be useful,” murmured Oswald. “Assuming she is among the people you’re trying to acquire a spot for. We may allow her in on a trial basis.”

“Rich folk,” he told them. “Or, former rich folk, rather. You might’ve met them at that founder’s dinner. They’ve been holing up in an underground shelter this entire time, but they want to resume living on the surface.”

“Really?” Oswald seemed intrigued. Edward had to admit, he was a little intrigued too. He’d known there had been a mayoral shelter somewhere in the heart of the city, but he’d thought it demolished long ago to make room for the underground subway system. Apparently that wasn’t the case.  

Which begged the question: why hadn’t he and Oswald been informed of its location?

“Do you have any names?” asked Oswald.

“They can give them to you themselves, provided you let them inside.”

“If they’ve survived this long on their own, why do they want to live here now?” asked Edward. He was sure Jim had an ulterior motive. Trying to take over perhaps, to drag Oswald and Ed off of their pedestals and take their place. He wasn’t sure how Jim could possibly achieve that by inviting a bunch of nobles to live in the settlement, but he felt so sure, so convinced that Jim was trying to deceive them that the fine hairs on his arms and neck were standing on end.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Jim. “We should kick you out right now!”

“For what?” asked Jim, sounding exasperated. “Inciting your paranoia? It isn’t my fault you’re mentally unstable, Ed.”

“I am NOT mentally unstable,” he snapped, which probably did more to prove Jim right than wrong.

Oswald set a hand upon his back in an obvious attempt to soothe him. “It’s alright, Ed. Let’s at least hear him out.” The touch slackened Edward’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d tensed. “Why did they send _you_?” Oswald asked, casting a curious look at Jim. “Weren’t they aware we have history?”

Jim didn’t reply. He slid his hand away from the butt of his gun and strode down the aisle towards them. “They’re aware.” He stopped a few feet short of them. “If this is too much for you, I’ll leave. I just want you to consider-“ He seemed to find his next words especially difficult to utter. “ _Allowing_ them to live in _your_ city.”

“Of course we’d allow them in,” said Oswald, interrupting Edward’s protest. “We’ve let in every other person than has arrived on our doorstep. Do you have so little faith in me that you think I’d turn away those in need?”

“There’s over fifty of them.”

Oswald paused, then opened his mouth, but Edward got there before him. “Such a large number of new residents would put a strain on our resources. There would be protests.”

“We can prepare for their arrival,” Oswald assured him, patting his back. “We’ll just have to put the construction of the greenhouse on hold and send those workers to gather supplies instead. Given about a week, we should have everything we need.”

Edward didn’t look entirely convinced of this plan. He regarded Jim with suspicion. “We should put some form of processing in place. We can’t just let fifty people in here without any idea of who they are.”

“Look, do what you need to do,” said Jim, raising his hands in apparent surrender. “I’m just the messenger, alright? Just tell me whether or not you’ll let them in.”

“We should think about it,” murmured Edward, leaning down to speak into Oswald’s ear.

Oswald continued to gaze at Jim. “Mmhm. You can bring them here, but whether we let all of them in is dependent on who they are. We can’t let people in indiscriminately.”

Jim didn’t look in any mood to argue. He nodded, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. He was still wearing that same old black winters coat, the one he’d been wearing when he’d apprehended Edward all those months ago. “Right. That’s settled then. Now I just need to know if you’ll let me come back to tell you when they’re due to arrive.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt,” said Oswald.

“As long as you don’t expect to _live_ here,” added Edward. “Or if you do, there’ll be a lengthy application process, you understand.”

“I understand that you have a bias, yeah,” growled Gordon. “Very professional.”

Edward narrowed his eyes; Jim’s insolence was making it hard to keep his temper in check. He so loathed being disrespected by people who were beneath him.

“This is _our_ city, Jim,” said Oswald coolly. He seemed no more pleased than Edward did. “We run it how we see fit. You had an opportunity to run this city with me in the past, and you fought me every step of the way.”

“That’s my _job_ , Cobblepot,” said Jim, his voice equally as cold. “Was my job,” he corrected himself. “All I am now is a messenger. You got that? I’m not here to fight you – either of you. I’ve given you my message and now I want to leave.”

“Then go.” Edward made a condescending sort of ‘shooing’ gesture.  

After giving them both a once over, Jim turned and strode out the building, hopping down the steps and disappearing into the depths of the city. Edward watched his back recede until it got lost among a crowd of passing citizens. He didn’t break the silence that had settled between himself and Oswald until he was sure Jim was well and truly gone.

“We’re going to have to postpone the wedding, you realize?”

Oswald lowered himself onto a pew, resting his chin in his hands. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I thought it best to get this out of the way before we be wed.”

“No, you’re right,” Edward said quickly. He didn’t want Oswald to feel guilty for something he’d had little choice in. They couldn’t very well turn away fifty people just because they didn’t particularly like _one_ man they associated with. As much as Edward loathed Jim, he couldn’t deny that would be incredibly irrational. “We can’t risk having fifty people show up at the gate on the day of our wedding.”

“That would be very inconvenient,” agreed Oswald with a smile. “Though it would make it a very memorable day.”

“I think I’d rather it be memorable for a different reason,” said Edward, and he started brushing down the pews with his fingers once again.


	12. Chapter 12

“Gordon seems like a nice guy. Definitely nicer than the newspapers ever said he was. Whenever I read about him, he was always embroiled in some kind of drama.”

Edward was only vaguely aware of Rowena talking to him. His mind was on the task of eye-dropping a sample of infected blood into their newest variations of the cure and taking notes on what he saw in the microscope. Rowena had her own samples to test, but clearly she had something on her mind, because she didn’t stop talking.

“I actually spoke to him before he left, and we got to talking about you and Oswald. He had some _interesting_ things to say.”

Now _that_ caught Edward’s attention. He immediately stopped what he was doing and straightened to look at Rowena. He was careful to place the eyedropper on a sterile surface so he wouldn’t drop it by accident.

“What exactly did he tell you?” he asked, going tense all over and trying to make it less obvious by lowering his shoulders. He wasn’t sure when he’d started to value Rowena’s opinion enough to dread the thought of her finding out his criminal past, but he was starting to realize she’d spent all this time regarding him as a decent person, a decent person who cared about other people and would _never_ revel in the senseless death of another human being, and he really wanted her to maintain that opinion.

He was surprised by how much the prospect of her knowing the things he’d done unsettled him.

“He told me you murdered your girlfriend,” she said, and his stomach plummeted.

“Accidentally,” he said, very quietly.

“And then you _accidentally_ cut her up and buried her in the woods?”

Of course he would mention that, the small-minded, hypocritical jerk.

As Edward tried to come up with a reply that wouldn’t chase off Rowena as it had Kristen, his thoughts were a chaotic mess of excuses and explanations. He couldn’t settle on how to answer and he ended up bursting out with a slurry of disjointed thoughts. “Well, I couldn’t very well keep the body – I’ve changed since then – you shouldn’t trust Jim Gordon; he’s not the Boy Scout people think he is!”

Rowena balked at him. “You did it. You really murdered your girlfriend and chopped her up,” said said, and she didn’t sound disgusted or horrified. She sounded disappointed, which was somehow worse than visceral disgust. “I’m not even sure how to take that after everything I’ve been through and seen.”

Edward was relieved to hear that. Maybe he had a chance to fix things. “It was a horrible accident and I panicked. The only reason I disposed of her in that manner was because my other self had transferred them to the morgue while I was unconscious.”

Rowena regarded him quizzically. “Your other self?”

“Yes, an auditory and visual manifestation of my darker thoughts. He took her while I was unconscious and moved her to the morgue.”

Rowena slowly retreated from the counter, staring intently at Edward. “…A hallucination took your girlfriend and moved them to the morgue.”

“Yes. They made riddles for me, too.”

“Riddles.”

“Yes.”

Edward quickly started to realize this didn’t sound as sane as he’d intended it to. “I’m not insane,” he told her. “I have a certificate.”

“Oh my god.” Rowena cupped her face in her hands. “You have a certificate – you’ve been to a mental institution? Did they medicate you?”

“Of course they did. They gave me sedatives daily to keep me compliant.”

“No, I mean – did they treat your… your hallucinations? That other shit with the dissociation? Because that isn’t normal, that’s…” Rowena seemed to be struggling for words. “Ed, I’m no doctor, but it sounds like you have an undiagnosed and untreated mental illness, maybe several.”

“But I’ve been fine,” he insisted. “No hallucinations since the outbreak. I had one of my girlfriend while I was dating, but that’s it.” His head was starting to ache. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with his knuckles. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“There is something wrong. You can’t just ignore it because the symptoms haven’t presented themselves in a while.”

“I’m not insane.”

“I’m not calling you insane,” Rowena said, and she strode right up to Edward, grabbing either side of his face and forcing him to look down at her. It was a gentle grip, unlike the slaps and grabbing Isabella had employed when he’d tried to break up with her. He relaxed into it. “I’m not going to get at you for the girlfriend incident. You say it was an accident, and I believe you. But people don’t just start hallucinating and lose control of their body when they’re stressed, Edward Nygma; there’s something wrong – schizophrenia, maybe – and it needs to be identified and treated, because you shouldn’t be hallucinating and dissociating when you’re stressed.”

Anxiety was prickling at the surface of his skin and it felt awful. He wanted to scratch his arms. “It hasn’t happened in a long while. I fail to see the issue.”

“You don’t leave an injury to rot just because the nerves have stopped responding, Ed. The longer you leave it, the bigger an issue it becomes.” She released him. “I’m willing to… overlook your past crimes, given our situation, but you _will_ be treated, Ed. I’m going to find you a doctor, you’re going to tell them your symptoms, and they’ll diagnose and treat you.” She waved a finger at him. “And don’t you dare try to protest. I’m willing to overlook fucking _murder_ for our friendship. Seeing a doctor is the least you can do for me.”

Her points were too valid for Edward to protest, and he didn’t want to risk losing her friendship either. It was very rare for his friendships to be mutual. What friends he did have, he needed to keep close.

“I’ll do it,” he agreed. “I’ll go to the doctor. Get medicated. I’ll do it.”

“Good,” she said.

Edward thought she was taking the news of him being a murderer far better than Kristen had. He supposed it was nothing new that one’s moral compass could be bent a little to accommodate grey-area friends, but this was the first time anyone had been willing to do that for _him_.

She wiped her hands down her face.

“I’m guessing Gordon’s claim that Oswald is a former mob boss is true too, then?”

Edward struggled to think of a response that wouldn’t be a lie, but wouldn’t out Oswald either. “That is something you should ask him,” is what he eventually settled upon.

It was clear Rowena took that as confirmation. “For Christ sake, really? And neither of you thought to mention your criminal past to parents of a six year old?”

Edward squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of Max. “I would never hurt her, and neither would Oswald.”

“I’m inclined to believe that considering you’ve been babysitting her going on a year, but I still would have liked to know.”

“I’m sorry, Rowena,” he said, and he really meant it. He didn’t like lying to people he cared about, even through omission. It was why he’d told Kristen about Tom despite knowing murder was wrong. It’d seemed important that she know, and he’d honestly though it would please her to know such a brutish man was dead.

He’d never been very good at understanding people. Though he’d never been formally diagnosed, he’d always suspected he was on the autism spectrum and his parents neglect and abuse had made it difficult for him to develop coping mechanisms for his lacking social skills. There were things other people would notice within minutes that took him months to recognize, assuming he recognized it at all, such as Oswald’s feelings for him. He found people _much_ easier to solve when he didn’t have a close personal relationship with them, so he could examine them as a puzzle rather than a multi-faceted individual.

Rowena’s anger did not abate with his apology. “You should be sorry,” she told him. “You’re going to make this up to me and my family, you hear? We worked tooth and nail for you and neither of you deemed us important enough for the truth. We deserved better.”

He nodded in agreement.

“At least you aren’t trying to make excuses,” she said, which made Ed feel a little bad for all the explanations and excuses he’d come up with, the ones meant to frame him as less culpable.

“I’ll talk to Oswald after we’re done here,” she continued, plucking Ed’s dropper off the table and pushing it into his hand. “Then I’m getting you in appointment with the local psychiatrist. We only have one, I think, so you’re going to have to settle with what you’re given.”

“Did they work at Arkham?” he asked.

“As far as I’m aware, no. I think they transferred down here from Bludhaven.”

“Good. They’ll have some sense, then.”

He wasn’t looking forward to it. He hadn’t seen a psychiatrist in his entire life, not once. Not counting Professor Strange, of course, who wasn’t _really_ a psychiatrist, just a madman playing a role.

He sincerely hoped Strange hadn’t survived the outbreak.

* * *

Being a creature that didn’t need sleep in order to subsist, Oswald rarely looked tired. However, the next Edward saw him, his eyes were bagged, his shoulders slumped, and his face spoke of a desire to crawl into bed and do nothing but sleep for the next several hours.

He didn’t retire to their bedroom for rest. He instead walked over to his desk and sat down, waiting for Edward to give him the daily report.

Edward had every intention of doing so, but first he circled around to the back of Oswald’s chair and laid his hands upon Oswald’s shoulders, gently massaging. He’d picked up some tips from the therapeutic masseuse Oswald had arranged for him.

“You look like Rowena just had a chat with you.”

Oswald grunted, which Edward took as an affirmative answer.

“I hope you didn’t argue too much. She can go on for hours.”

“It certainly felt like hours,” muttered Oswald, leaning his body forward so Edward had access to his upper back. “I don’t believe I’ve been scolded like that since… well…”

“Do you feel guilty?” he asked, mostly out of curiosity. He’d never been given the impression Oswald felt bad about committing murder. The ability to kill was something he seemed to regard as a necessary life skill, which made one wonder what sort of upbringing he’d had.

“A little,” Oswald admitted. “More so for being accused of lying. It was something my mother brought up before her death, my tendency to omit the… the bad things I’ve done.” He ran his hands up through his hair, pushing it back over his scalp. He wore it back more often than not these days. Edward supposed that was due to the warmth currently pervading Gotham. “I felt rather like a chastised child, I will admit. I almost expected her to put me in the corner.”

“She more or less did that with me,” said Edward. “Put me in the corner, that is. Figuratively.”

Oswald glanced over his shoulder at him. “Figuratively?”

“She wants me to a see a psychiatrist. I agreed.” Edward worked at the muscle between Oswald’s shoulder blades and spine. The muscle was so hard that Edward had to wonder if Oswald had pulled something without noticing. His nerves were numbed enough that he didn’t always notice when he hurt himself, rather like someone suffering from a congenital insensitivity to pain.

“Why would you agree to such a thing?” asked Oswald.

“Because she had a point,” he said, though now he was distracted by how hard that muscle beneath his fingers felt. “Oswald, have you done any heavy lifting recently?”

“Of course I have. I’m among the most physically adept in the city.” That statement sounded odd considering Oswald’s size, but it was true. His condition gave him an advantage.

“I think you’ve pulled something. You should see the masseuse.” As an afterthought, he added. “And have a check-up. It’s been a while, and we have an _actual_ medical doctor now.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to arrange that,” said Oswald, and Edward knew immediately he would have to remind Oswald at least three times before he did it. He wasn’t very good at taking care of himself. Much of the time Edward even had to remind him to do basic things like clean his teeth and wash himself (which could get frustrating as Edward would frequently see flecks of blood on his teeth and chin from the cattle he slaughtered). “Now, what points did Rowena have?”

“I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it, but I’ve suffered from hallucinations in the past, among other things,” said Edward as nonchalantly as possible. “She was insistent that I be treated for them.”

“You’ve hallucinated, and you’ve never been treated for it?” Edward wasn’t sure what to make of Oswald’s tone. He sounded slightly disturbed, like he’d never considered the possibility Edward wasn’t quite all there.

He withdrew his hands. He felt hurt, and he knew that was stupid, because he already knew there was a stigma attached to mental illness, so why should he be surprised Oswald found his afflictions disturbing? Kristen had found them disturbing as well. He shouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Never mind, it’s not worth talking about,” he said dismissively, moving away from Oswald and to the opposite side of the desk. “I have today’s report ready, if you’d like to hear it.”

“Ed, we have mutual respect in this relationship, don’t we?” asked Oswald abruptly.

Edward blinked slowly, confused. “Of course, Oswald. I don’t believe I’ve ever respected someone as much as I respect you.”

“If you respect me, then please tell me when I upset you instead of distancing yourself from me. I believe even the densest of people would have noticed what you’re doing. I don’t want the only sign that I’ve done something wrong to be you doing,” he nodded to the space between them. “This.”

Edward was quiet a moment, and then he said, “You sounded disturbed when I mentioned the hallucinations.”

“Ed, I’m disturbed that you didn’t receive any _help_ for them.”

“Oh.” Edward stared down at the desk. He shouldn’t have written Oswald off so fast. What kind of boyfriend was he? “I’m not… not really used to people responding that way. To mental illness in general, I mean.” Even _he_ was guilty of participating in the subjugation of mentally ill people. He had turned Oswald away when Oswald had come to him during an identity crisis, after all. In retrospect, it was probably a self-centred of him to be so wary of judgement when he’d dismissed Oswald’s odd mental state with such ease.

“I was admitted to Arkham as well, you remember. I don’t think you lesser for your problems.” Oswald gestured for him to come closer, and this time, Edward did, perching himself on the edge of Oswald’s desk and sliding across so he was draped across Oswald’s chest. Oswald wrapped his arms around him. He loved the closeness. It was comforting.

“I remember. I turned you away when you came to me after.”

“You had good reason to. I hadn’t been in your life for a long time and I was spouting nonsense. You let me in despite that, and that was more kindness that most people showed me.”

“It was still a shameful moment for me.” Edward leaned his face into Oswald’s neck, inhaling the scent of clammy skin and blood. He’d have to tell Oswald to take a shower tonight. “You were a good friend. I should have treated you as such.”

“Stop, Ed. I don’t hold any resentment over that, you know that. I likely would have done the same thing in your position.” Oswald stroked the back of his head with a long-fingered hand. “Besides, we’re discussing you needing treatment for your hallucinations. That was in the past. Your problems need addressing _now_.”

“I haven’t hallucinated in almost a year,” he mumbled. “It only happens when I’m under great duress.”

“Considering we’re running a town in the middle of the apocalypse, I’d say you would benefit from treatment. Proper treatment, of course; none of that ‘electro therapy’ and ‘daily sedation’ torture masquerading as a legitimate form of treatment.”

Edward opened his mouth, and it remained open despite the fact he didn’t immediately respond. Something had occurred to him. “Is…is that what they did to you?”

“What?”

“When you were in the asylum, is that what they did?”

Strange’s method of punishing Edward had been to leave him in a room with a rabid patient while he screamed and begged and pushed himself into a corner, desperate for safety. He wondered what awful things he’d done to Oswald, what awful torture he’d subjected him to over and over until the Penguin receded into the depths of his mind and all that was left was naïve little Oswald Cobblepot, king of nothing and deprived of everything that made him _him_. It was exceedingly sad to think about. Maybe that was why Edward had never thought about it before.  

“Yes,” was all Oswald said, but it was enough. Edward found his hand and held it, stroking Oswald’s knuckles with a thumb.

“I would have killed him for you, you know. Slowly. There’s no one I’ve met more deserving.”

“That means a lot to me,” said Oswald softly. “But don’t let Rowena hear you saying that. I’ve promised her we’re reformed.”

“Are we reformed?” It was a honest question. They hadn’t murdered anyone recently – anyone who didn’t _need_ to be murdered, in any case – nor committed any other criminal acts. This might have been because there was _no point_ in such acts since they benefited in no way from stealing or killing in this new society, a society they ran, but were you really reformed if you merely had _no reason_ to commit crimes? Edward supposed they could have gone about this in far worse ways, run the city like Jervis had, but he still wasn’t sure. After all, they’d just been speaking of murdering Hugo Strange (in his defence, killing someone like Hugo would have been more of a public service).

“It doesn’t matter in these times,” said Oswald simply. “No one knows our criminal history and no one cares to. They’re just happy we can provide them with shelter and basic necessities for a comfortable life.”

“Rowena cared to,” pointed out Edward.

Oswald frowned. “I’m sure she would have forfeited our friendship if it were really that important to her.” He leaned back to look down at Edward. “This is something of a clean slate, Ed. Let it be that. Don’t think about it.”

“I don’t suppose you would let me use that as an excuse to get out of therapy?”

Oswald snorted. “A clean slate for our _criminal_ history. As much as I dislike psychiatrists and therapy of any kind, I’d rather have this dealt with than have it show up at an inopportune time.” His grip on Edward tightened. “But if they do anything to make you uncomfortable…”

“Please don’t kill them if that happens. We do need at least one psychiatrist in this settlement.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that. You know how I am.”

Edward smiled. It was a nice feeling to know Oswald was willing to kill for him, even over something as minor as being mistreated by a psychiatrist. “At least tell me beforehand so I can come up with a believable reason for their death. We are supposed to be reformed, after all.”

This was twice now they had discussed the murder of another person. It was looking more and more unlikely that they were truly reformed.

That didn’t really bother Edward.

“I’ll try,” said Oswald, loosening his grip to press a chaste kiss to the edge of Edward’s lips. His hands descended to Edward’s sides, sliding beneath the coat. They didn’t move any further than that, merely held him.

Edward slid his hand down Oswald’s spine and rested it between his shoulder blades. He was so cold there. What little blood Oswald had flowing in him didn’t reach this part of his body. “I love you,” he said, just because he felt like saying it.

Oswald’s hands twitched against his sides. He was staring at Edward with wide, unblinking eyes, drinking in the sight of the man he loved. Edward didn’t mind. It had unsettled him initially, given Oswald’s taste of human flesh, but he liked it now. He liked the attention.

“I love you too.”

Edward pressed their lips together… and then he remembered why he had come here, and he withdrew, much to Oswald’s disappointment.

“The report, I’m supposed to give you the report.”

Oswald scowled. “Can’t you do that later? I’m enjoying this.”

“I have to send out the next gatherer’s team before evening, so it’s unlikely we’ll have enough time for whatever it is you have in mind anyway.”

He sighed, propping his head on Edward’s chest. “You’re going to force me into a cold shower, you know, and I’m cold enough as it is.”

Edward laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. We’ll see each other this evening anyway. We share a bed, after all.”

“You fall asleep practically the moment you hit the mattress.”

“Well, I need eight to ten hours to function optimally, and we tend to retire to bed late.”

“I’ve barely had the opportunity to touch you,” sulked Oswald. “It drives me mad, sometimes, how much I want you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I’ve never wanted someone so much. It’s difficult to live with. I want to touch and hold you all the time.”

Edward face was steadily turning pink. He drove Oswald _mad_ with desire, did he? It was a giddying thought and it ought not to have been. Oswald was a literal man-eater, after all. “Then why haven’t you? I know we’ve been busy, but it’s not as though we haven’t been alone in a room together.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to initiate it. I want to be sure you want it. I know men aren’t your first choice when it comes to intimacy.”

Edward brought Oswald’s hand up to his face, leaning his warm cheek against the knuckles. “Intimacy isn’t my first choice of anything. Physical contact of any kind has never been a big part of my life – physical contact of the pleasant sort, anyway. But I want to be touched by you, and I want to touch you. I like to be close to people I love in all manners of the word, and intimacy is part of that.”

Oswald swallowed. He seemed to be having a hard time sitting in his chair. He was shuffling in place. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a man?”

“Not particularly. Not anymore. But I _really_ should give you that report, Oswald, before I have to leave.”

Oswald sighed and reluctantly withdrew. “I want a kiss when you’re done.”

So Edward told Oswald the report, of the teams being sent out over the next week to retrieve supplies for the impending influx of new citizens, of new rooms in an apartment building being cleared out and made livable, of the state of their livestock, of the level of citizen satisfaction, and of the number of infected that had approached the settlement as of late, and when he was finished, he permitted Oswald to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. His mouth was still tingling from the force of it as he left Oswald’s office to fulfill his assigned task.

* * *

The psychiatrist had a clock hanging above his desk. It was large, round, and white, and the sound of the hands moving was very loud in the quiet of the room.

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

Edward had to exert considerable effort to listen to his psychiatrists voice rather than the ticking.

“Thank you for coming here today, Edward,” said his psychiatrists, who had earlier introduced himself as Raymond Ashton. He was a kindly looking middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and warm hazel eyes. His appearance was welcoming enough to somewhat ease Edward’s anxiety.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he replied, though that was an obvious empty platitude.

Raymond offered him a smile regardless. “You look a little nervous. What's worrying you?”

Edward fiddled with his nails. He hadn’t been on edge enough to do _that_ in a while. “Not sure,” he mumbled.

“You’re not sure?"

He shrugged a shoulder. “I'm guess I'm worried about being thought less of for my problems, like you might laugh about them in private later, after we’re done here.” He stared at his knees. “But that's silly, I know; you’re a psychiatrist. You’ve undoubtedly seen worse than me.”

“I visited a psychiatrist myself, some years ago, so you needn’t worry about that judgement from me.”

“You did?” That actually made him feel a little better. “If I… if I may ask, what for?”

“A diagnosis and medication for depression,” said Raymond. “I’d recently divorced my wife of twelve years. We all go through our trials and tribulations and we all need help sometimes, even the help itself. There’s no need to be ashamed.”

Edward wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, but the admission did provide comfort. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Edward. Now, would you like to tell me what exactly brought you here?”

"Rowena didn't tell you?"

"She wanted you to tell me yourself."

“Oh.” He paused for a few moments, gathering courage. “I’ve been experiencing psychosis. Rowena thought it might be schizophrenia.”

“Tell me about your symptoms.”

“I hallucinate sometimes when I’m stressed. Auditory and physical. On one occasion I sort of – dissociated.”

“Dissociated?”

He gave a nervous lick of his lips and swallowed. It was exceedingly awkward to have to tell a medical professional about this. “I did some things that I don’t remember and my hallucination claimed he did it.”

“Who is ‘he’?”

“Me, but he… I guess he was what I _wanted_ to be. A version of me that wasn’t so…” He trailed off into silence.

“This is very serious, Edward,” Raymond murmured, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Did you experience any of these symptoms as a child?”

“No,” he said, giving his head a shake. “I think the only other time anything like that happened was when I was in my early twenties. I chalked it up to stress, since I was juggling work and university at the time, which proved difficult with as full a timetable as I had.”

“I’ve heard numerous similar stories over the years. It’s very common for symptoms to start appearing in one’s early twenties and get worse as one gets older.” He pulled open a desk drawer, reaching into it and rummaging about inside. “I believe I managed to salvage an information booklet on psychosis here somewhere… there’s a few on abortions and postpartum depression. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing those?”

“Oh, no,” Edward laughed. “I don’t plan on getting pregnant anytime soon.”

“Aha!” Raymond suddenly cried, prompting Edward to jump in his seat. He then withdrew his hand and slapped a small white book down on the table before Edward. “That should help. Between the pages of twenty and twenty five, it provides some coping methods for when hallucinations and delusions occur.”

Edward took the booklet and skimmed a few pages of text. It seemed like it would be reasonably helpful. “Do I have schizophrenia, then?”

“We’ll need to do some tests to determine that. Usually there would be some lengthy observation, but as we’re short on time and you’ve already said you’ve been experiencing these symptoms for some years, we’ll stick with a physical exam, a psychiatric evaluation, and some tests and screenings,” said Raymond. “Because we don’t yet have a diagnosis, it may be a little while before I can put you on medication. Providing the wrong kind can make these symptoms worse.”

Edward nodded in understanding. “So once I’m on them, I just… won’t experience psychosis anymore?”

“For the most part. Sometimes symptoms can persevere, but we have coping mechanisms to help in those instances. You’ll be undergoing psychological therapy as well, and I suggest Mayor Cobblepot have a read of that booklet as well so he can be part of your support network.”

Edward slipped the booklet into a breast pocket. “Will it change me much, being on medication?”

“It might do,” said Raymond. “For the better, I imagine. There are many people who’re diagnosed whose quality of life are significantly improved after medicating. It provides you with clarity, so you may find yourself dismissing irrational thoughts and delusions you never before recognized as such.”

Edward thought he was taking this incredibly well, though the disorientation of realizing his entire life was about to change, _again_ , was starting to set in. He’d never even attempted to receive medical help for his problems before. He’d just… accepted them and moved on, because that was what he’d always done, even with more physically debilitating ailments like elongated strep throat and low blood pressure. “Okay.” He folded his hands in his lap, straightening enough to look Raymond in the eye. “When will you be able to perform the appropriate tests?”

“We should start with some blood tests first, I think. Make sure everything is functioning how it should.” Raymond reached into his drawer again and retrieved a slip of paper, scribbling upon it. “If you take this note directly to Rowena, she’ll draw the blood and do those tests for you. After that, we'll do the evaluation.”

The piece of paper was passed across the table. Edward slid that into his breast pocket as well. “Thank you, sir. You made this a great deal easier than I thought it would be.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Edward.” He stood out of his seat and extended a hand to Edward, which Edward took and shook. “Now, go out and enjoy the rest of your day! I hear Martin managed to gather the equipment for a barbecue.”

“Yes, he’s cooking sausages as we speak,” said Edward, pushing in his chair on his way to the door. “You’ll come down when you’re finished here, won’t you?”

“Of course!”

Oswald was upon him the moment he arrived at the barbecue. He threw his paper plate aside, onto the table (fortunately), and hobbled his way up to Edward with his arms pressed against his sides in a way that suggested he was having a very hard time resisting the urge to pull Edward into a hug. 

“How did it go?” he asked in a low voice.

Edward stepped toward the table Max, Jake and Rowena were occupying. The kids had left class early just so they could attend the barbecue. “There was no reason for either of us to worry. Raymond is very good at his job.”

“You didn’t feel uncomfortable or pressured at all?” asked Oswald. He might as well have changed his moniker to ‘The Mother Hen’ with how often he concerned himself with Edward’s well-being.

“Uncomfortable, yes,” said Edward. “Pressured, no. He was kind enough to divulge some personal details to make me feel better about being there, which made things considerably easier.”

“Good,” murmured Oswald, audibly relieved.

Before they reached their table, Edward leaned down to whisper into Oswald’s ear. “We’ll ought tell Martin and Jake about our... _questionable_ history after the barbecue. They brought some beer, and that should make them more receptive.”

“Do we _have_ to tell them?” asked Oswald uncomfortably. He peered around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before he continued. “They’ve gone this long without knowing, I don’t see why we couldn’t continue to keep it to ourselves.”

“Rowena,” he said simply, and Oswald’s face fell.

“Oh, alright,” he agreed reluctantly. “After the barbecue, then. And we’ll talk some more about your appointment tonight.”

“Tonight,” Edward agreed, stepping away to seat himself next to a very cheery looking Max, her lips smudged with mustard and tomato sauce.

“Hey, Ed,” Jake greeted merrily. Rowena offered them a smile, her mouth full of sausage. “What’d you think of the apron I found Martin? I dug it out of a thrift store a while back.”

Edward glanced over; Martin was wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron with a set of big red lips beneath the text. He laughed. “Very nice.”

Oswald’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Don’t suppose you could get one for Ed here? He likes to dabble in cooking, and I like to, well…” He winked.

Jake snorted. “I’ll go have a look around when my gathering party leaves tomorrow. I’m pretty sure they had a green one in there.”

“A green one, you say? I’ll have to wear it on principle.”

The peasant smell of cooking meat wafered closer to them as Martin approached with a tray of sausages. The way he held it suggested he had some history in waiting tables. “What’ll it be, chief?” he asked, tapping the rim of the tray with his tongs. “I got cheese and onion and tomato chutney, or tomato sauce, or some mild mustard, since you lot are such pu-“ He glanced at Max. “Wusses.”

Edward took a paper plate from the middle of the table. “The lot, if you don’t mind.”

“The lot it is, then! And for you, Oswald.” Martin slid a plateful of sausages off his tray and dropped them before Oswald. There had to be _at least_ twelve there. “I cooked all these up just for you. Make sure you savour them, because nothing beats barbecued homemade sausages.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's probably obvious by now, but I feel like I ought to mention it regardless: this fic lifts Ed's history straight from the comics. 
> 
> There's also some mild sexual content in this chapter.

The fact he and Oswald had once been criminals went over surprisingly well with Jake and Martin, much more so than it had with Rowena. The necessity of killing infected humans had forced them to develop a desensitization to the loss of human life. It was a coping mechanism that, while an unfortunate commentary on the current state of morality, benefited him and Oswald in the long run; they couldn’t afford to lose what few friends they had. There needed to be more than one other person in their lives they could trust for the settlement to be run efficiently.

Jake was among the last of those sent to retrieve supplies, while Martin remained behind to direct renovations on recently emptied apartments. Rowena, meanwhile, was busy teaching the children, as she always did.

That left Oswald and Edward with some time for themselves, the first day they’d well and truly had for themselves in months.

It occurred to Edward that Oswald had probably arranged for it to be this way.

Though Oswald had made it clear he wanted intimacy the last time they’d had a moment alone, all he asked of Edward was to indulge him in lunch and a movie. After receiving confirmation this was indeed what Oswald wanted (though he _twitched_ rather comically when Edward mentioned having acquired some lubrication for Oswald’s earlier request), Edward cooked up two generously sized steaks and situated himself on the couch to eat.

They chatted idly while they ate. Or rather, Edward chattered; Oswald offered little reciprocation as he was a ravenous eater, not one accustomed to pausing between bites. He finished his meal within minutes, while it took Edward almost a quarter of an hour to empty his plate. When he was done, he took the dishes to the kitchen and selected a video tape from their modest collection, taking it back to the lounge room with him.

“Men in Black?” inquired Oswald arching an eyebrow.

Edward slid it into the VCR. “I felt this fit the mood better than ‘Black Christmas’ or ‘Friday the 13th’.”

“Why do we _have_ so many horror movies?”

“Because Jake likes them, and he’s the only one who takes the time to collect tapes.”

He returned to the couch, manoeuvring himself into a corner and pulling Oswald upon him, wrapping his arms around Oswald’s midsection. It was always a pleasure to feel Oswald relax within his hold. He had all the peril of a rabid dog, but show him some affection and he would melt in your arms.

For a while they sat and watched quietly… but Edward simply couldn’t help himself: he _had_ to offer commentary. “This movie changed cinema forever. It wasn’t the most amazing story or cinematography, perhaps, but it was unique and funny and earlier movies were severely lacking in those areas. Now movies strive for creativity.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Oswald indulgently, though he didn’t sound particularly interest. With his eyes as unfocused as they were, Edward was starting to suspect he wasn’t even _watching_ the movie.

He decided to test that theory.

“What did you think of the main characters transition from the army into the role of man in black?”

“It was interesting,” said Oswald, and there was Edward’s confirmation. He frowned down at Oswald.

“He was never in the army, Oswald.” He resumed watching the movie. They had arrived at a car-ride sequence. “I don’t know why you suggested a movie if you weren’t going to watch.”

“I am watching,” Oswald protested. “I’m just not paying attention.”

“How can you enjoy the movie if you aren’t paying attention?”

“I can appreciate the witty dialogue. And I…” Oswald hesitated. “I can hear your heartbeat. I’m enjoying listening to it.”

Edward didn’t see how his heartbeat could be of more interest than a movie. “Why?”

Oswald answer was a touch sarcastic. “Well, you see, I don’t have one anymore.”

“You enjoy listening to it because you don’t have one?”

“Yes. It’s a comforting sound. It reminds me that I still have a heart, even if I can’t hear or feel it anymore.” He held up a finger. “And yes, I realize how _cheesy_ that sounds. No need to point it out.”

“It’s alright, Oswald. Babies often enjoy the sound of the heartbeat. It reminds them of being in the womb.”

Oswald scoffed. “That isn’t the most flattering comparison you could have made.”

“It’s true, though,” said Edward. “Now you’re one factoid smarter.” He groped around the couch for the television remote. It had become lodged between the cushions. “But if you wanted to listen to my heartbeat, we didn’t have to put a movie on for that.”

“It, ah… how do I put this…” Oswald licked his lips. “It wouldn’t have _just_ been listening to your heartbeat if we hadn’t started with dinner and a movie first.”

At this comment, a sudden warmth spread through Edward’s face, reaching for the tips of his ears. “I- I wouldn’t have minded that.”

“I would have. I’m a gentleman, Ed. The least I could do before partaking in… other activities is treat you to dinner and a movie.”

“ _I_ made dinner.”

“And you enjoyed the activity greatly, while I would have burned the food beyond edibility.”

Edward would have offered to teach him, but was there much point while Oswald’s diet was restricted to meat with the occasional condiment? He’d never be able to taste the food he made, never be able to enjoy it.

He turned off the television. Oswald glanced at him. “Edward?”

“You want to touch me,” he said calmly. “You can do it now. I don’t mind.”

Oswald startling blue eyes widened. “How much? How much can I…?”

Edward leaned back against the armrest in preparation for explorative hands. He expected it would be a little bit… odd, at first, as this would mark the first time he’d been on the receiving end of such attention. Kristen had been passive in bed so there hadn’t been much fondling on her end, and he hadn’t gotten quite this far with Isabella. “As much as you want,” he told Oswald.

Oswald rolled onto his belly, and within seconds his hands were peeling away Edward’s layers, pushing them aside so he could reach the pale pink skin beneath. His fingers were, as they always were, cold as they touched the hard edges of his ribcage, dragging over them like the keys of a piano. They delved lower, over the flat expanse of his belly and to the long trail of hair peeking out from under his trousers, and then even lower, to a hip, which Oswald grasped while clambering up Edward’s body to press a hard, insistent kiss to his mouth. He was shivering from the coolness of Oswald’s body while Oswald explored every crevice, every bump. His other hand slid up beneath Edward’s shirt while they kissed and dragged over the calloused, damaged flesh covering his back, and then to the small of his spine, pulling him closer. When Oswald ended the kiss to suck at Edward’s neck, Edward couldn’t help the moan that barrelled out of his throat.

He was aroused, he distantly realized. Were they about to copulate? Would Oswald permit it? There was good reason for Oswald to be anxious about intimacy, but god, he desperately hoped they wouldn’t stop. He’d loathe to have to deal with his arousal on his own.

He wrapped his arms around Oswald’s shoulders and pulled him closer, trembling while Oswald sucked and kissed his way down his neck and chest, applying the occasional bite that left the area a bright pink. At some point, he lifted his legs and wrapped those around Oswald too, though he couldn’t quite recall when.

One of Oswald’s hands found his buttocks, squeezing the ample flesh. His posterior always had been one of his more attractive features. There weren’t many men as endowed in that area as him.

He arched against the armrest as Oswald licked a stripe up his chest, his breaths laboured, and it was as he moaned Oswald’s name that Rowena came striding into the room from the left-most entrance.

“Oswald- oh, for goodness sake. If you’re going to do that, at least do it in the bedroom.”

In what was clearly a desperate attempt to convince Rowena they hadn’t just been fondling each other, Oswald pushed him off the couch and onto the floor. Edward was shocked by this, but not shocked enough not to kick Oswald in the knee in retaliation.

Honestly, what a _ridiculous_ overresponse to having someone catch them in an intimate moment!

He quickly righted himself and pushed his shirt back over his thoroughly marked chest. At least she hadn’t seen them naked. “My apologies, Rowena. We didn’t realize you’d drop by.”

“I’m glad I did it _now_ and not _later_.” She extended a hand to Edward, who took it and allowed himself to be heaved upright. A very slight pink tinged her cheeks. “Oswald, stop looking at me like I just walked in on you masturbating. You were making out. It’s fine. There’s no judgement on my end.”

Oswald scratched at the bridge of his nose, gaze diverted. “I- er, yes ma’am.”

“What is it you needed, Rowena?” asked Edward patiently.

Rowena folded her arms over her chest. “There’s a man at the gate. We thought he might be among those you said to soon be arriving, so we haven’t let him in yet. Well, _they_ haven’t let them in yet. The guys out front couldn’t find you, so they found me, and they asked me to find you, and here we are.”

Edward started buttoning up his shirt. He wasn’t about to step outside with his chest on display.

“Age? Name? Did they say they were with Jim Gordon?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t the one who spoke to them.”

Oswald still seemed to be in the process of collecting himself.

“Alright,” said Edward. “He might be the messenger. Let’s go and see.”

Rowena started walking, and he and Oswald quickly followed suit, still neatening their clothes and hiding any signs of their activities behind the collars of their shirts. Not that Edward had done much to mark Oswald beyond a tight grip on his back. He’d probably have a few scratches on his shoulder blades, at most.

They walked briskly down the street and to the entrance gate.

At the gate, a tall, burly looking man peered at them over the shoulder of one of the guards, his watery eyes dark and intense. They were a familiar shade of brown.

Edward’s heart jumped in his chest. He stopped moving, he stopped breathing, and surely he was seeing things, because that man looked exactly like his father.

* * *

For a long time, all Edward did was stare. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from those dark brown eyes the exact shade of his own. He’d always had eyes like his fathers, but nothing else. No nose, mouth, chin, or forehead. All those were attributed to his mother, who had walked out on them early enough in his life that he couldn’t say whether or not this was true. He just remembered growing up with his father complaining about the resemblance.

A loud buzzing in his ears rendered Oswald’s and Rowena’s voices distant unintelligible background noise. He didn’t know what they were saying and he didn’t care. He’d run away from his home at sixteen with the resolve to never see his father again. He’d discarded his surname and moved miles and miles away from Waterbury, to a city his father would never think to look for him. Or at least, that was what he’d though. But he was standing at the gate now, examining Edward just like he had when Edward had been a ratty eight year old, with that same rough distain.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding his breath. He felt faint. He wondered if he’d pass out soon, and if he did, would he wake up to find out this had all been a horrible nightmare?

“Eddie? Is that really you?” his father’s voice was the only one audible over the insistent buzzing in his ears.

It had been over a decade, and yet his father still recognized him. Of course he would. He had very distinctive features, and who else would start to tremble at the sight of another grown man?

“God, it really is you, isn’t it? I‘ve seen you in the newspapers a few times. Never thought I’d see you in person.”

Finally, Edward exhaled so hard that his entire body rocked with the force of it.

“These guys called you the chief of staff. Really? You? Didn’t you murder some girl?”

Edward felt a hand on his shoulder. Oswald was holding onto him with a vicelike grip, and only when he spoke directly into Edward’s ear did Edward hear him.

“Edward, you’re scaring me. Please say something.”

“It…” His throat was so tight that it was a struggle to talk. “It was an accident.”

“You _accidentally_ killed someone through _strangulation_?”

“It was an accident,” he said again, in a much quieter voice.

“Yeah, right,” his father scoffed. “Should’ve known you would turn out like this, a cowardly little murderer who makes excuses so he doesn’t have to face what he did.” He father moved further past the gate, and the guards appeared too shocked at Edward’s display of terror to stop him. “You shouldn’t be running this place. You’re doing a shit job of it, no doubt.”

“Excuse me,” Oswald interrupted in a snarl. He was speaking so loud that it was impossible not to hear his voice. When Edward’s eyes flicked over to him, he looked one more provocation away from stabbing his father in the neck. “My chief of staff is the most competent, reliable man I have ever met.”

“Competent? Reliable?” His father snorted. “He’s a liar and a cheat, is what he is. That’s all he’s ever been good at, and now he’s a murderer as well.”

“I’m not!” he shouted. He couldn’t help himself, and it was so sudden that Oswald seemed to momentarily forget get his desire to spill blood. “I’m not a liar, I’m not-! I never cheated!”

“You are. You cheated on all those tests and lied to me about them; everyone knows you did. You’re still lying to me, even now!”

“I – I didn’t- I-“

He couldn’t stand it. He felt like a child again, too helpless to defend himself from his father’s physical and verbal attacks. So he did what he’d always done when his father had raised a fist at him:

He ran.

He turned and ran as fast as he could.

He didn’t run anywhere in particular; he just chose a direction and ran.

Oswald and Rowena shouted after him and he ignored them. He continued fleeing down the street even when his lungs began to burn and his throat ached horribly. He couldn’t breathe from the exertion and still he ran, because if he stopped, even for a moment, his father would catch him and hurt him and say all those awful things he’d spent his entire life trying to disprove, and in the back of his mind he would wonder, as he always did, if his father was _right_.

He was somewhere near the south-most wall of cars, the one leading to the more dangerous parts of the city, when his legs finally gave out on him and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. He lay there and panted heavily for a very long time. His face was uncomfortably wet, being whipped by warm summer winds, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to wipe it dry.

Someone knelt down beside him and turned him over. For a horrifying moment, Edward thought his father had found him. But he peeled open his wet, stinging eyes and Oswald was looking down at him, his face lined with concern.

Edward curled away from him and tucked his arms tight against his chest. Not even Oswald presence was comforting to him right now.

His father was here. His father knew he was a failure, and now Edward knew too. How had he ever talked himself into thinking he was anything else? He’d never had any friends, had two failed relationships, one of which had ended in murder. He’d killed people, so many people. What sort of man would associate such awful actions with _success_?

Oswald sat down next to him and stroked his hair. The slight, gentle touch sent him into hysterics, and he sobbed so hard that his entire body shook, bringing his knees up so he could press his face into them. The cement was digging into his side but he didn’t care.

“I’m surprised you managed to run this far,” whispered Oswald. “I was worried I’d lose you for a moment there.”

Edward said nothing. He continued to sob. Anything he tried to say wouldn’t have been intelligible, anyway.

“Ed, what he said wasn’t true. You know that, don’t you? You’re not a cheater or a liar. And what happened with that woman, you shouldn’t feel ashamed about that.”

Oh, but he did. He felt so much shame that it threatened to consume him from the inside out. It was like a parasite, gnawing and burrowing, invading and ravaging. It made him want to be sick.

As he lay there, shaking and weeping, he wondered if he’d ever feel okay again, if he would ever feel like he had before seeing his father.

But maybe he didn’t deserve to feel any different. Maybe he deserved this, maybe that was why it felt so awful. Failures were supposed to feel bad, and if he was a cheater and liar on top of that-

No, no, he wasn’t a cheater. He hadn’t cheated. He hadn’t lied. He’d never lied on those tests; he’d answered honestly.

…Hadn’t he?

He could be remembering wrong. Selective memory. Lots of people suffered from that.

Oh, God, had he cheated, then? Was his entire life founded on cheats and lies? Maybe he’d only ever done well in school because he’d cheated. Maybe that was the only reason he’d ever achieved anything. 

But he hadn’t _really_ achieved anything, had he? He hadn’t done any of the things he’d said he would when he’d run away from home. He had promised himself he would prove his father wrong, get a good job and a wife and have a child and buy a house with a white picked fence, and instead he was a former asylum inmate who’d been convicted of murder, who had a former mob boss as his partner, whose only friends were people he’d fragrantly deceived into trusting him. He gripped at his hair, pulling it at the roots.

He didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to run away from his thoughts in the same way he’d run away from his father.

“He’s right, you know,” Kristen whispered. “Everything he said was right. How could you kill someone you loved, Eddie? What sort of person does that?”

He didn’t open his eyes. He was afraid he’d see her there, standing over him.

“You deserve this. You deserve to feel as bad as you do right now. Your father always thought you’d grow up to be a failure and he was right.”

He curled up even tighter, inadvertently pushing away Oswald’s hand. He’d curled his fingers over his ears, but it did nothing to block out the sound of her voice.

“You’re completely worthless, Eddie,” she said sweetly. “All you were ever good for was being a punching bag.”

He barely even registered Oswald sliding his arms beneath his body. He did feel himself being lifted, but he didn’t respond.

Kristen was still speaking to him when Oswald gently set him down in their bed, though she was steadily becoming more distant.

Oswald leaned over him and pressed their mouths together. It was messy and wet and cold, and for a moment, he was shocked out of his grief.

“Oswald?”

Oswald withdrew enough to speak, clutching either side of Edward’s face with shaking hands.

“You were silent for almost ten minutes. God, Ed, I – I’m scared. Please talk to me. Please,” there was such a pleading note in his voice that, as miserable as Edward was, he didn’t have it in him to deny Oswald.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t feel quite like himself, like he was existing somewhere beyond his mind and watching everything unfold from a distance. He noticed he was still crying and wiped the moisture away with the back of his hands.

“That man. That was your father, wasn’t he? The one who made those marks on your back?”

Bile crawled up Edward’s throat at the memory of how he’d received those scars. Sometimes, on particularly bad days, his father had used the metal end of his belt. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence before Oswald spoke again. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No,” he said quickly, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Oswald looked as shocked as he felt. “No?”

“No, I…” The words came to him slowly, pushed out through a tight, rough throat. “I need… I need to prove that I’m…”

“You don’t need to prove _anything_ to him,” said Oswald. “You don’t owe him anything. Let me kill him. You’ll never be bothered by him again.”

“But I need him to,” he whispered roughly and fresh tears started to fall. How stupid, how _childish_. He needed to prove to a man who’d spent sixteen years loathing him and abusing him that he wasn’t a cheater or liar or completely worthless. He knew it was pathetic and still he yearned for the validation.

“You don’t. You don’t need him for anything! You haven’t had him in your life for, what, a decade now? You’ve lived without his affirmation for years and you can continue to do so.”

Edward was having a hard time believing that. “Please don’t kill him,” he begged. “Please.” It was stupid, it was so stupid. He hated himself so much. He hated being like this. He’d never felt so weak and pathetic in his entire life. What must Oswald think of him, watching him cry and beg for the life of a man who had never regarded him with anything but distain, all in the hope he would one day tell Edward he wasn’t a liar or a cheater and he’d been wrong about him.

“Edward…”

“Please,” he said again, softer this time.

Oswald’s features slackened. There was so much sadness – so much _pity_ in his expression that Edward had to close his eyes and turn away. He felt Oswald raise a hand to his hair and start to brush it back.

“Alright, I won’t. But it will happen eventually. I can’t let that man live after what he did to you.”

Edward swallowed and nodded. It was only now that he noticed Kristen’s absence. He hoped she didn’t return.

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” he asked, and he wasn’t sure why he did, because he knew Oswald would lie even if he did. He just wasn’t thinking straight.

“Of course I don’t,” said Oswald. “I would never think that.” His voice sounded so sincere that it made Edward want to break into tears again. “It’s not your fault this is happening. Your father conditioned you to feel like this in his presence.”

He was being very reasonable, and it actually made Edward feel a little better.

He shifted so he was curled against Oswald’s knees.

“You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met,” Oswald continued softly, in a voice that was as reverent as it was sympathetic. “Everything about you is spectacular. You believed that before you father showed up, didn’t you? You should believe it now.”

Oswald wiped away the moisture on his cheek with a thumb.

“May I request something?” Edward asked in a mumble, which was the only volume of voice he could manage at the moment.

“Of course.”

“There’s sleeping pills in the bathroom. I would like two.”

Oswald ceased drying his cheek. “Are you sure you want those? You’ll be lethargic tomorrow.”

“Please.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll be right back.”

His weight disappeared from the bed. While he was absent, Edward rearranged himself so he was taking up even less room than before, manoeuvring himself to a cool corner of the bed.

Oswald returned a moment later with two yellow pills and a glass of water. Edward swallowed them with a sip of water and lay back down, clenching his mouth shut tight so he wouldn’t vomit them back up. Stress was making him queasy.

Oswald lay down beside him and wrapped his arms around the ball he’d pulled himself into. His chin rested on the top of his head, lost in a tangle of dark brown curls.

“I’ll have to leave to check the gate shortly, but I’ll be back when you wake up, I promise. I won’t leave your side until you’ve recovered.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm... a little surprised by the length of this fic, I have to say. This is the first time I've written a fic of this length. It's probably not the best fic ever, but I'm proud of it regardless. By the time it's done, I expect it'll be around 80-90k or so. I'm not sure. That might not seem like a lot to people who's written 400k beasts, but that's a ton for me!
> 
> Thank you for everyone still commenting on, kudosing, or just reading this fic! Without your interest, I likely wouldn't have passed the 30k mark. I appreciate every little bit of feedback I get.

Oswald didn’t keep his promise. When Edward next awoke, he was alone, still tucked into a little ball in the corner of the bed. He couldn’t have been asleep long as there was still light streaming in from outside.

Slowly, blearily, he rose onto his elbows and peered around the empty bedroom, and it was then that his disorientation receded enough for him to register the sound of screaming.

No, not just screaming – yelling, crashing, the indubitable sound of _gunfire_.

Edward’s languor disappeared within an instant. He threw his legs over the side of the mattress and leapt to a stand.

The moment he was upright, the aching of his body became painfully apparent. He could feel it pervading every inch of muscle as he moved. This, Edward imagined, was what people felt like after running a marathon, sans the burn and the compensatory prize of having achieved something. Had he known the sleeping aids would affect him to this extent, he would have forgone them.

Fighting through the fatigue, he retrieved his shotgun from its mount and slipped on his shoes, hobbling to the front doors of the mansion. People dashed further into the building as he advanced on the exit. One of them was injured, clutching a bleeding arm in a fist, a chunk of flesh hanging off the limb.

Edward had an awful feeling he knew exactly what the source of their distress was.

He arrived to utter chaos, the undead scattered throughout the settlement while men and women fled from them in droves. A scarce few inhabitants were trying to fight off the monsters with whatever weapon they had on hand. None of these residents had been taught to fight, however; almost all their combatants had been sent out to recover supplies.

Edward swept his gaze over the scene. Corpses dotted the street and footpaths. Some belonged to recently deceased residents, many of whom were gored beyond recognition. A few of them had been shot in the head as a preventative measure, but not all of them, Edward noticed, and he could see one or two fresh corpses beginning to stir.

The vaccinations given to each resident generally ceased to work after death. The spill of chemicals that followed death exacerbated the spread of the infection, and he and Rowena hadn’t quite yet figured out how to counter that.

He shot the twitching bodies in the head and moved on.

“If you’re injured, go to Arkham for treatment,” he bellowed, loud enough that he was sure it would be heard over the frenzied screaming and shouting. “If you’re vaccinated,” he continued. “Grab a gun from storage!”  

To his great relief, he saw throngs of residents turn and barrel in the direction of the weapons shed.

He jogged for the gate. The infected _had_ to have entered through there. It was the only way they could have breached Edward’s meticulously fortified settlement, the only entrance that wasn’t heavily barricaded by cars and covered in traps.

Stupidly, he felt a twist of fear at the prospect of seeing his father again and quickly dismissed it; even if his father _was_ here, which was unlikely, he wouldn’t be hanging around a location smothered with hostiles.

(Maybe he'd been killed, thought Edward, and he was ashamed by the dread that rocked through him.)

The sight of the gate brought with it the sensation of his stomach plummeting into his guts, as heavy and burdensome as a sack of sand. It was half-way shut, now, but it had clearly been left open for some time, certainly long enough for a hoard of infected to enter. It was thick, heavy, intended to be impenetrable, but those qualities were useless when there were so many infected bundled up beneath it, preventing it from closing entirely. The guard were making a valiant effort regardless, pushing at the closing mechanism from their protective tower.

To his surprise, the infected weren’t alone: Jim Gordon stood precariously close to the entrance with two pistols in hand, shooting any infected trying to squeeze through the gap. Even more surprising, Edward felt a shock of fear race through his chest when one of the beasts swiped at him.

“What are you doing here?” Edward shouted, rushing forward to help Gordon dispose of the remaining infected. He shot them again, and then once more to make their body parts easier to manoeuvre out of the way, clearing a path for the gate to descend. “Where’s Oswald?”

Jim’s answer didn’t come until the gate was firmly shut and all that could be heard beyond it was the gurgling of dying infected.

“I made a mistake.”

“You did this?" he asked, incredulous. "You let them in?”

Jim visibly hesitated. “Yes,” he said eventually.

Edward’s fingers twitched. After the day he’d had, it would feel _wonderful_ to take out some of his anger on Jim. The only reason he restrained himself was because he knew he hadn’t the strength to achieve such a thing, and Jim would probably deck him into unconsciousness as a consequence.

He would have shot him in the foot, perhaps, but he didn’t want to waste even one shell. They were a precious commodity in this day and age.

“Why?” he asked, hands turning white around the handle of his gun. “I know you don’t particularly like me and Oswald, but _innocent people_ are _dead_ , Jim.”

Jim winced, guilt evident on his face.

Good. He _should_ feel guilty.

“I didn’t know they were going to do this.”

“They? _Who_?”

"The people I’ve been living with all this time.”

Edward took a step closer, his expression dark and threatening though he doubted he’d be able to enact violence on Jim with any degree of success, especially after taking two sleeping pills. “What did you do, Jim?”

Jim throat bobbed. “I sabotaged the gate. I thought _they_ were going to enter, not the infected.”

Repercussions be damned, Edward lunged at him. He was quickly pinned to the gate by two very strong hands.

“You complete imbecil!” he snapped. The guards were starting to hop down from the watch towers to assist him. “No,” he yelled to them. “Stay up there! Keep picking off the remaining ones!”

Reluctantly, they did as he instructed.

Jim’s grip slackened, though he continued to hold Edward to the gate as a precaution. “They were meant to come in and usurp you. This wasn’t part of the plan. It was supposed to benefit the people, not end with them being killed and assaulted.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” he said cooly. “So you sabotaged the gate – for who, exactly?”

“Not much point in giving you names. It wouldn’t help with apprehending them.” Finally, he let go of Edward, who straightened himself and brushed down his clothes to recover some modicum of dignity, which was a little hard after being restrained so effortlessly.

“Do you have anything to give me? _Any_ useful information? I need some incentive not to shoot you, Jim.”

Jim eyed his shotgun. “I had a man with me. He was wearing a face mask. He had a spray can on him. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but I’m thinking he’s left you a message somewhere.”

Edward didn’t see anything when he glanced around. “Where-?”

Jim was already moving, and reluctantly, Edward followed suit. He didn’t like that Jim was taking the lead. It felt demeaning considering this was Jim’s fault.

“It’d have to be somewhere easy to find,” said Jim.

“And where’s Oswald?” Edwad asked again, raising his gun to shoot a nearby infected. Their numbers were dwindling rapidly. It appeared a little over twenty had entered the settlement, but not enough to overwhelm them. Edward wondered if that had been deliberate, or if the gate had been closed too fast for the intended number to filter in.

“I don’t know," answered Jim. "I’ve been a little distracted.”

They mowed down a few more infected as they advanced on the centre of the city.

“You didn’t see him?”

“Briefly, but that was it. Once I realized there was a hoard coming in, I had to get out of the way.”

“And where was he? Was he alright?”

“On the ground, fighting them. But he had to run for safety too when they started attacking him in retaliation.”

Edward’s anxiety spiked. He didn’t feel at all tired now, though his limbs were still exceedingly heavy. “Was he injured? Is he alright?”

“I told you, I don’t…” Jim trailed off into silence, his gaze rapt on something in the distance. “Never mind. I know exactly where he is.”

“Wha-?”

When Edward followed his line of sight, he realized exactly why Jim had changed his mind.

There was a message spray painted onto the pale bricks of the courthouse, dark and vivid.

‘ _Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,_  
_Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime._  
_They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed._  
_Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head_.’

An old nursery rhyme Edward had heard long ago. He’d always thought it the product of superstition.

Pinned to the middle of the message was a photo of Oswald Cobblepot cut from a newspaper. He was smiling and waving from the backseat of the limousine.

Edward stared at the wall, barely able to comprehend what was happening. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. First his father, and now this…

“Ed?”

Gordon sounded genuinely concerned.

Edward wanted to kill him. He deserved it. This was all his fault. It would be so gratifying to take the life of the man who had ruined Edward’s life not once, but _twice_.

But his death wouldn’t bring Oswald back. It would do the exact opposite, in fact.

The gun fell out of his hands before he could do anything with it, anyway.

“This can’t be happening,” he whispered. “This can’t be happening.”

But it was happening. Oswald was gone.

* * *

 

Oswald was everything to him. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t stand to. The thought was terrifying and emptying, it made his insides feel as hollow as they had during his conversation with Jake, it made his throat tight and his eyes sting. He didn’t think he could live without him.

He was going to find these Court of Owl people and slaughter them. Every single last one. He would step over their still-warm corpses and retrieve Oswald and they would return to the settlement so everything could go back to how it had been prior to the breach.

He just needed to remember how to breathe first.

“Ed? Ed, take a breath, damn it.”

Jim Gordon trying to instruct him on what to do wasn’t really helping. If he’d been able to draw a breath, he would have. He was having a hard time recovering control over his lungs.

Jim applied a hard slap to his back. That actually did help, as the suddenness of it forced him to exhale.

He still glared at Jim though.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, which was promptly followed by him prodding Jim in the chest with a finger. He didn’t seem to notice the irony. “This is your fault. All of this is your fault. You’re like poison, you infect everything you touch and destroy them from the inside out,” he spat, furious at his helplessness and growing even more so when he realized he was starting to tear up.

_Don’t cry. Don’t do it in front of him. You’re too old to cry, and you’re a man._

He angrily wiped tears out of his eyes before they could fall.

_This is why your father hated you so much, for being so pathetic._  

“All these deaths are _your_ fault! You called me a murderer, but you killed more people in one day than I did in my entire criminal career! If not for you, none of this would have happened! Oswald would still be here!”

Jim didn’t reply, and it infuriated him. He tried to lunge for him again, knowing it was hopeless, knowing he’d be overpowered, but he did it anyway, because someone needed to hurt. Everything was going wrong and someone needed to pay for it.

Jim caught his wrists and pushed him against the wall, restraining him. Now he didn’t even have the dignity of wiping away his tears.

He didn’t dare blink. If he did, they would fall.

“You – you probably brought him here, too, didn’t you?” he said in a hiss. “You thought it’d be funny, did you, to bring that monster here? Oh god, you-“ His heart was racing as realization dawned. “You brought him here to incapacitate me, didn’t you? You wanted to render me useless!”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about-“

“My father!” he shouted, unable to help himself. He was shaking hard and he knew Jim could feel it. “You brought him here so I wouldn’t be there to help Oswald! You’ve known all this time, haven’t you, the things he did to me, and you used them against me! You – you – you knew I’d be useless if you brought him here, you sick, twisted-!”

His wrists were transferred to one hand so Jim could slap the other over his mouth, silencing him. He tried so hard not to blink as Jim regarded him with confusion, but he did and tears dropped onto Jim’s hand, sliding down his wrist and soaking into his sleeve. It might have been the most embarrassing moment of his life were he not so horrified with his realization.

Jim had planned all of this. Maybe he’d done it out of revenge for the time Edward had orchestrated his downfall.

Yes, that made sense. He’d collaborated with those Court of Owls people and now he was going to, what, kill Edward?

He couldn’t let that happen. He needed to save Oswald.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about. I didn’t bring anyone here. It was just me and that guy I mentioned, and he was too young to be your father.”

Edward took heavy breaths through his nose. There wasn’t much else he could do. He really wished he could dry his face.

“Look, I’m gonna fix this. I need you to stop trying to assault me for a minute in order to do that.” Jim licked his teeth. “I know this looks bad, but you need to calm down. The more time we waste here, the longer Oswald spends with them, and do you really want him to be kept in the company of people willing to release a hoard of infected into a city of innocents for any longer than necessary?”

Edward squeezed his eyes shut. He loathed to admit it, but Jim was right. Getting upset wasn’t helping anyone, least of all Oswald. He needed to calm down enough to reassess the situation, figure out what to do and how to do it. He’d always been amazing at planning.

He inhaled sharply through his nose and nodded his head as best he could. Jim slowly withdrew his hand, though his other one lingered on Edward’s wrists.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” was the first thing out of Edward’s mouth. He took a moment to think before he continued speaking. “…But you’re the only one who knows where these people are, so I have no choice but to allow you to accompany me.”

“Yeah, good. You’re thinking straight.”

Edward had a witticism in response to that, but he decided against using it as it would out his and Oswald’s relationship status. He didn’t know how Jim felt about two men being in a relationship, and seeing his father had heightened his paranoid to the point where he was fearful Jim would refuse to help him if it was divulged.

“I’d appreciate it if you let go of my hands,” said Edward, giving them a twist. Very hesitantly, Jim did what he asked and retreated a step, his eyes lingering on Edward’s gun. For anyone else, Edward would have put the safety on to reassure them. In Jim’s case, he gripped the handle closer to him.

“You’ll pay for this eventually,” he said quietly, raising a hand to face to dab away the moisture on his cheeks. Jim’s gaze flicked away uncomfortably. “But first, I need to check up on something. You can wait at the gate or accompany me. I don’t care.”

“Let’s go,” said Jim gruffly, which wasn’t the answer Edward had been hoping for. He was probably worried about being shot on sight if he returned to the gate.

They picked off what few remaining infected were present as they strode down the main street of the city, toward the building being utilized as a school. Edward leapt up the steps and unlocked the double doors, throwing them open. It wasn’t a big building, having only one floor and four rooms, but it had been appropriate for their purposes. Jim was still following at his heels when he arrived at the room being used as the primary classroom.

Rowena was standing in front of a mass of children, holding a gun. A few of the older ones had weapons as well, though they were noticeably trembling and sweaty with anxiety, struggling to maintain a firm grip on their guns.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, but before Rowena could answer, Max hurdled up and hugged his legs. He just barely managed to prevent himself from falling over by grabbing onto a desk. When he looked down, she was staring up at him with wide, wet, bloodshot eyes and sniffling. Edward reached down to stroke her head.

“Mr. Eddie, everything went so – so loud and- they were outside the door, and-!”

“Everything’s alright now, Max,” he soothed. “Don’t fret.”

“Nothing too bad happened here, Ed,” said Rowena slowly. She lowered the gun and came to kneel at Max’s side, giving her daughter a kiss on the head and holding her to her bosom. “Nothing got in here, but there was so much _noise_ from outside. Is- is everyone alright? Did anyone die?”

“A few,” said Edward sombrely. “Someone planned this so we wouldn’t have our usual number of forces to deal with the attack. They call themselves the Court of Owls. They let the infected in here.” He jerked a thumb at Jim. “He’s going to lead me to them. I’ll give you the full story when I get back.”

“You shouldn’t go after them,” said Rowena, looking more worried than he’d ever seen her look before. “You’re just _one_ man, Ed, and – why exactly is he here, and why is he helping us?”

“Long story,” said Edward, eager to leave. “Like I said, I’ll tell you when I get back. They have Oswald. I need to go before they do something to him.”

“They have Oswald? How- why?”

When Edward glanced at Jim, he saw Jim shuffling uncomfortably on the spot, staring at the ground. “I don’t know. He should be able to tell you himself when we return.”

“Ed, what if he’s…”

“He won’t be,” he said firmly. He refused to even humour the idea. “I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“Try not to get yourself killed, Ed.” Rowena rose to her feet. “We can’t afford to lose both of you. We need you.”

“I’ll return,” he assured her, offering a smile. It was forced and small, but it was the most he could manage at the moment.

“Be back soon,” Max murmured, clutching onto her mother’s pant leg. “We have piano lessons…”

“I’ll try to be back in time for them,” said Edward, and he had to turn and start walking away, because his throat was starting to clench again and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to restrain an outburst of emotion.

He hated how raw he felt, like the protective layers he’d built around himself had been flayed back to unveil the damaged, volatile little boy he’d been in his youth. He hadn’t felt like this in over a decade, never so vulnerable. He’d certainly experienced strife in the last few years, but he’d still been in control, he’d still maintained his dignity. He’d never have imagined the mere appearance of his father would collapse all the work he’d put into moving on from his turbulent childhood. It had been over a decade; wasn’t that long enough? Why wasn’t he better? Why hadn’t be moved on?

“Ed.”

He abruptly realized he was standing on the steps to the school. He didn’t remember leaving the building.

“You have that distant look about you, like the one from the GCPD.” Jim joined him on the steps. “You need to pull yourself together or you’ll end up dead before we even reach the Court of Owls.”

Jim wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t give you the satisfaction of letting you watch me die.”

“For Christ sake…” Jim descended the rest of the steps and strode for the exit, forcing Edward to follow. “Why would I want to do that, Ed? Why would I want to see you killed?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I tried to ruin your life.”

“Yeah? So have most people. I try not to hold a grudge.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to extend that courtesy to you after you endangered my friends and got Oswald kidnapped. I’ve killed people for less.”

Jim watched him in the corner of his eye. “You try to sound tough, Ed, but I know your humble origins. You’re just a kid who got a taste of power and responded to it in the worst way possible.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “Is this really a good time for you to be antagonizing me?”

“You started it.”

“That’s the sort of comeback _children_ come up with.”

“Seems like the level of conversation you’d best understand.”

“Jimbo,” he snarled, but they were at the gate, and Gordon didn’t seem interested in provoking him anymore. Edward himself lost interested when he saw his guards throwing the corpses of the undead over the top of the gate. Those were going to stink after a few days. When they got back – and they _would_ get back, and they’d have Oswald with them when they did – Edward would have to make sure they retrieved every single corpse and burned them. A proper burial would have provided more dignity, but there were so many of them; they simply couldn’t spare the time and resources. The only ones who would receive funerals were those who’d died in the attack.

“Open the gate,” he yelled.

“You sure you wanna do that, Ed?” asked one of the guards. Wasn’t his name John? Joseph? Something like that. He was usually better at remembering names than this, but to be fair, he’d had a very rough day. “I have no idea what brought the hoard of infected here, but whatever it was, it looks like it stirred them up all over the city. You’re gonna have a hard time getting through, even in that limo of yours.”

“I’m aware of the danger. Open the gate.” As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

The guard reluctantly complied. He and Jim ducked beneath it and Edward started a brisk walk to a nearby garage in which the limousine was stowed. They had initially kept it inside the settlement, but it was really too much of an inconvenience to ask the citizens to leave the main street when they needed to take it out, so they had sought out somewhere else safe to park it while it wasn’t in use. The other cars they used were parked at either side of the gate, providing additional protection.

They had to climb over a thick pile of bodies in order to reach the garage. A few of them stirred, which resulted in either he or Jim shooting them in the head. Edward no longer had to fear becoming infected due to frequent experimental vaccines, but the infected could still cause serious damage to one’s body if they got their hands on you. He couldn’t risk becoming incapacitated (again) when Oswald needed him.

He briskly raised the garage door and entered, gesturing for Jim to enter via the passenger door.

“I’ll drive,” said Jim.

Edward scoffed, sliding into the driver’s seat. “ _I’ll_ drive.”

Instead of entering through the appropriate door, Jim leaned against the frame of the driver’s side. “It’ll be easier if I drive. I know how to get there.”

“I’m driving. Just give me directions.”

“No. Move over.”

“Jim, I’m-!” That was as far as he got, as Jim grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him to the other side of the car, sliding comfortably into the driver’s seat while Edward was busy trying to right himself. He’d just managed to heave himself upright when Jim turned the ignition and started the drive.

“Was that really necessary?” He asked, smoothing down his coat as though Jim had sullied it somehow.

“Yes. Put your seat belt on.”

“Why? Will you force me to if I don’t?”

“By this point I thought it’d be obvious I have no qualms with forcing you to do what’s necessary.”

Edward grumpily grabbed his belt and yanked it into position.

“You used to be nicer,” muttered Jim.

“Well, you were _never_ nice,” he retorted, crossing his arms in a petulant manner. He couldn’t believe Jim, criticizing him for a lack of niceness when Jim had been the one to feign friendless out of _pity_.

“I answered your riddles, didn’t I?” Jim asked, but he seemed distracted, focused on navigating Gotham’s labyrinthine streets. “I never said anything nasty to you.”

“You pitied me. I could tell you did.” Edward tucked his shoulder between the seat and window. “Maybe you thought that was kind, but it wasn’t. I knew what you were doing.”

Jim turned the car down a different street to avoid a small congregation of infected in the distance. “Fine, Ed. I pitied you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you feel better now?”

He didn’t. The validation neither improved nor worsened his mood. “No,” he said, and he really wished it had. He was so anxious that he felt sick; he was desperate for relief.

Jim side-eyed him. “You feel worse? You certainly look it.”

“That might be because my - my _best friend_ has been _kidnapped_. Because of _you_ , I might add.”

An exhale whistled past Jim’s clenched teeth. Edward hoped Jim was getting a tension headache from how hard he was clenching his jaw. “I made a mistake. I’m going to fix it.”

“You’d better.”

Edward examined Jim’s face while the man maneuverer the limousine through infected-heavy streets. At some point, Edward would need to stick his gun out the window and start shooting, but for now…

“While you were with the Court of Owls, did you see a man with black hair and brown eyes, and a very red, gaunt sort of face?”

Jim glanced at him. “Your father?”

Edward remained silent.

“No,” said Jim. “I don’t think I did. I doubt it’s a coincidence someone like that showed up on your doorstep, though.”

Edward turned to stare out the window. Maybe they had his mother there, too.

“They’ll probably have him at the underground shelter,” continued Jim. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Edward stared out the window, unblinking. He’d definitely need to take out his gun soon. Shoot a few infected. If he didn’t, they would end up overwhelming the vehicle.

“Far be it for me to encourage you to speak, but I asked you a question.”

“I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold, I visit the weak, but seldom the bold.”

A beat of silence. “Fear.” Jim always had been good at his riddles.

“Yes.”

“You’re scared of him?”

“Yes.” He grimaced; he found it hard to lie at the best of times, but when he was stressed, it was nigh impossible.

“Goddamn it,” whispered Jim under his breath, and for a moment, Edward feared Jim might berate him. But he didn’t. “I don’t exactly like you, Ed, but I’m not gonna let the guy touch you. Harvey won’t either. You’ll be fine.”

Edward balked. “Harvey’s alive?”

“You think I’d be my usual cheery self if he wasn’t?”

“I’ve never known you to be cheery.”

“It was a joke, Ed.”

Edward turned in his seat to face Jim. “Why would either of you do that for me?”

“Do what?” asked Jim.

“Protect me from him. You hate me.”

“Well, for starters, it’s practical, and secondly, I’m not the asshole you think I am.” Jim started to slow down, reaching for the gun attached to his belt. “Well, mostly. I’m not about to let your abusive father harass you because of my own personal feelings. I’m a cop; we don’t discriminate.”

“You’re not a cop anymore,” Edward pointed out. He started to roll down his window just enough to stick the end of his gun out.

“Still a decent person.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Whatever, Ed.”

They shot the infected attempting to flank them, then continued on. Edward hoped the journey wouldn’t be much further. He hadn’t had the forethought to bring more ammo and it looked like the swarms of infected were getting thicker rather than thinning out.

“I do appreciate that you’re willing to protect me,” he said awkwardly, and he regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. He fidgeted in his seat. “That is, I mean, the least you can do considering this is entirely your fault.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Right. Always happy to help.” He threw his gun into Edward’s lap, who jumped in surprise. “I’m going to need you to open the car roof and shoot some of the infected surrounding us. Has your aim improved at all?”

“Of course it has,” he replied in a fluster. He maneuverer his shotgun to his back. He’d only use that when necessary to conserve what little ammo he had. “I’ve had more reason to improve as of late.”

“I don’t doubt it. Get up there.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving.” He crawled into the back compartment with considerable difficulty and pushed the button to open the car roof. Sliding out unveiled dozens of infected approaching them from the sides and a few chasing from behind.

Edward tried to maintain his composure as he pointed his gun at the closest of the infected, pulling the trigger, but a tremor in his arm prevented him from inflicting a killing shot. He inhaled sharply and turned on the spot, aiming his gun at yet another infected, this one attempting to clamber onto the roof of the car. It fell to the ground and was caught under the wheels when Edward shot it in the head.

“You doing alright up there?” he heard Jim call.

Edward shot another of the infected. That one fell flat on its back.

His arms continued to tremble.              

“I’m getting flies in my mouth!" he yelled back, glad for the rush of wind masking the shaking quality of his voice.

He'd never fought off the infected without Oswald before. He felt incredibly vulnerable without Oswald nearby as backup.

"Why would anyone hang out of these for leisure?” he added.

“Great! Thanks for the update!”

There were still – one, two, three, four – four more infected to deal with, and Edward was having a hard time aiming his gun while they were moving so fast. Fortunately, Jim took a turn and two of them disappeared behind the corner of a building. He flicked on the safety for the pistol and dropped it into the vehicle, dragging his shotgun off of his back.  The moment it fell into his hands, the tremor dissipated and his racing heart slowed.

There was something indefinitely comforting about the handle of a shotgun warming in your hands.

With a carefully aimed shot, he was able to dislodge the remaining two hostiles from the boot of the car. Their heads exploded into a fountain of red and Eddie just barely managed to throw himself into the back before being splashed.

The first thing he saw was Jim attempting to drive and grope around in the back at the same time. Edward quickly shoved the pistol into his hand.

“Both hands on the wheel,” he told him, joining Jim in the front.

Jim offered a noncommittal grunt in response to this.

They proceeded the rest of the way to their destination in relative silence. Once or twice, Edward broke it with a comment regarding Jim’s driving ability, but the closer they got, the less inclined to humour his attempts at conversation Jim seemed to be. By the time they slid to a halt before the Gotham Library, Jim’s mouth was pinched shut and his shoulders were drawn. He shut his door with more caution than Edward thought necessary.

“The library? Why the library?” he asked, walking briskly behind Jim. Loose gravel crunched underfoot. The car park hadn’t been repaired in some time; one of the many projects he and Oswald hadn’t had enough time to oblige.

Jim shrugged. “Don’t ask me, ask them.”

“Are we actually going to talk to them?” They weren’t heading inside. Rather, they were heading around the back, toward a small set of stairs leading into library staff room. Was that the entrance? It seemed rather conspicuous for a super-secret mayoral bunker.  

“I haven’t decided.”

“You don’t have plan?” Edward scoffed. “So, what, we’re just going to walk in there with loaded guns and they’ll let us?”

“Why wouldn’t they? Oswald was bait.”

“But we have _guns_.”

“I never said we’d get to _keep_ them.” Jim guided him not to the steps, but to an innocuous looking sewage cap situated a few feet from the building. It appeared to be bolted into the cement. “But they will let us inside. It’s a start.”

“A trek through the sewage. Wonderful.”

“Nope, it’s not a sewer.” Whatever Jim did down there, it soon resulted in the cap flopping back on its own accord. He hopped inside and started descending the steps.

Edward followed him down, down, down into the damp, musky depths of the… no, it couldn’t be the sewer; it didn’t smell anything like a sewer. It smelt like dirt and cement, like something stale and forgotten. As they reached the bottom, the light was soon engulfed by the closing of the cap and they were left in a vast, black void, nothing perceivable by the human eye.

Edward’s brow started to develop a sweat. “Jim, I – I can’t see anything.”

“Give it a minute.”

“What do you mean? Where’s the light? I can’t-“

All at once the room was filled with such an intense light that Edward had to raise his arms to shield his eyes, backing into the cool metal of the ladder in an effort to escape it. He felt a firm grip around his bicep.

“It always takes a minute for the sensors to turn the lights on.”

He reluctantly lowered his arms. “Do the lights really have to be _this_ bright?”

“All the lights they have are the kind that simulate sunlight.”

Edward pushed himself off the ladder, brushing Jim’s hand off his arm. “Right. That makes sense.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “The human body isn’t deigned for underground dwelling. They’d need synthetic light to live comfortably. I’ve read in Finland that they-”

“We have things to do.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

He did a quick survey of his surroundings. Pale white walls on all sides, a little stained by time but otherwise untouched by any form of life. He couldn’t even see a single spider web, not one. The only evidence anyone had even been here before were the muddy boot prints below the ladder.

He started walking in the direction of the only door in the room.

“Wait.”

He stopped, glancing back at Jim.

“That isn’t the right door,” murmured Jim. “There was one here.”

He was pointing at a blank length of wall. Edward arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’re not misremembering?”

Jim approached the wall and explored it with his palms, placing his ear upon it. Judging by his expression, he didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. “No, there was _definitely_ a door here.”

Edward approached and examined each corner of the wall at length. “Well,” he said after he was done. “Short of acquiring a demolition hammer, I don’t think we’ll be unveiling it anytime soon. This is a brick, not a mere slab of concrete intended to cover up the wall. Not that we would have had much luck getting through the latter without a sledge hammer and a drill.”

“It’s a trap,” said Jim, casting a frown at the remaining door.

“Obviously. Is there another way in?”

“No.”

Edward resumed walking to the door. He peered through the doorway and into a long, white hallway that branched off in two directions. Left and right. “I think this might be a maze.”

“They have a maze down here?”

“That’s what I just said.” He took a slow, creeping step inside, peering around in search of traps. “I can’t see the ceiling. It’s just black up there.”

Jim soon joined him in peering up at the ceiling. They couldn’t tell how tall the walls were, nor where the ceiling was supposed to be, _if_ there was a ceiling. Ed briefly entertained the idea of scaling it, but that idea was quickly dismissed as the combination of his and Jim’s height was visibly too little to reach beyond the darkness.

“Give me something to throw.”

“What?”

Ed extended his hand to Jim. “Give me something.”

“I don’t have anything except my gun.”

“Your badge.”

Jim’s mouth thinned. “Will I get it back?”

“That’s… nebulous…” Edward pulled him further into the maze by the wrist. “I want to see if it goes over the wall, or if it-“

There was an ear-splitting crash and Edward leaped away from its approximate source, throwing his hands over his head in anticipation of an assault. But no such assault came.

The sound tapered off until all Edward could hear were Jim’s shuffling and heavy breaths and his own beating heart in his chest. He slowly dropped his arms and peered around, and that was when he noticed their entrance – or exit, rather – had been blocked, much in the same way the other door had been.

“Shit,” whispered Jim.

For once, Edward shared Jim’s sentiment.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long now, folks. I have maybe one or two more chapters planned, then the fic will be complete. I'll likely do some ficlets/art of this universe in the future, though, so if you enjoy this series, rest assured that this won't be the last you see of it!
> 
> Also, I don't know how many people have read Batman: The Court of Owls, but for anyone who has, you're going to see a lot of references in this chapter!

Mazes were often categorized as puzzles. Now that Edward was currently traversing one, he had to disagree: mazes didn’t have the traditional elements of a puzzle. There were no clues from which an answer could be derived. More than anything else, reaching the exit of a maze relied on dumb luck.

And he and Jim had yet to encounter that dumb luck.

Edward wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking – four hours? Eight? He generally followed the time by watching the sky, and there was nothing but synthetic light to guide them in this place.

He could recall few instances in his life where he had felt more helpless. It hadn’t been so bad in the beginning, when he’d been so sure he and Jim would be able find their way through by going left until they reached the outer boundary, but he had eventually come to realize the Court had considered maze solving algorithms in their design when they ended up having to turn around and go back in the direction they came over a dozen times.

This was grimmer, even, than the death Tetch had designed for him; this was an elongated fate. Edward was beginning to suspect there was no exit. The Court of Owls wanted them to walk until their bodies gave out, until they either succumbed to dehydration or exhaustion and died painfully, hopelessly, knowing they had – _he_ had – failed to save Oswald.

The thought of never seeing Oswald again made Edward's chest tighten with anxiety. He drew in short breaths as he and Jim continued along a lengthy white hallway, his eyes glassy with panic. He wished he’d had the forethought to bring something; a pen, a pencil, something to help mark their way, though he wasn’t sure knowing they were going around in circles would alleviate his distress any.

His footsteps slowed. The perpetual state of anxiety was taking its toll on his body, rendering him weak and queasy. He swiped a hand across his forehead and noticed he had started to sweat.

Jim seemed to be fairing significantly better than he was, with only tense shoulders betraying his distress.

It was as he began dragging his heels that he saw it: a small ornate opening in the middle of the hallway. Its presence was so out of place that Edward had to shake his head and wipe his eyes to reassure himself he wasn't experiencing a bout of psychosis.

He wasn't. It was real.

He hurried closer and gasped as a beautiful marble fountain full of what was undoubtedly delicious, clean water came into view. It sat against the far back wall of the room, and quite predictably, a giant statue of an owl stood smack-bang in the center. Edward’s queasy belly ached for a gulp of that cool, revitalizing water. Thoughtlessly, he started to move towards it.

“Ed, wait, don’t drink that!“

Jim’s voice snapped him out of his daze. He took one last, stumbling step before leaning against the opening to the fountain room and tearing his gaze away from the water with difficulty.

“I-I know. I know,” he said, gathering his wits. He’d almost done something _incredibly_ stupid. Why would the Court of Owls offer them sustenance if not to incapacitate them or kill them? He’d rather die from dehydration than give them the satisfaction of drinking their poison. “I’m not going to.”

“Did you see the walls?” asked Jim, pulling him off the doorway by a fistful of his coat and gesturing to either side of the fountain. "Look at them."

Edward did, and he saw there were paintings on the wall.

No, not paintings; there were _photographs_ on the wall, all framed and hanging from ornamental hooks. Edward stepped further into the room to get a closer look and realized all of them, every single one, was of a person’s face. There were men, women, even a few children and elderly people. A chill washed over him when he saw every person wore an expression of deep fatigue and horror.

It was easy to piece together the story, given that he and Jim were currently going through it: every face here belong to a person who had been trapped in this very maze and walked and walked until they could go no further, and moments before their death the Court of Owls had snapped a photo of them to hang on their wall. It was remarkably sadistic, beyond anything Edward had ever conceived of doing.

An awful thought struck him: Was Oswald photo here? Had they already snapped a picture of his face moments before his death and hung it up for Edward to find? Judging by the dates on the plaques attached to the frames, if Oswald _had_ been here, his photograph would be on the far left of the room. Edward moved without thinking, long legs carrying him towards his destination.

His sprint came to an abrupt halt when he ran straight into a camera sitting on the ground, its stand folding and collapsing as Edward struggled to untangle himself.

He hadn’t seen it there before.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

“You okay?” shouted Jim, coming to his aid with a pair of strong hands. He heaved Edward upright before he could go cartwheeling into the fountain. “Wait- was that there before?”

“You didn’t see it either?” His relief was almost palpable. He relaxed beneath Jim’s grip. “No, I don’t think it was. They must have put it here while we were looking at the photographs.”

Jim peered around at their surroundings. “There’s probably a hidden exit here somewhere, then. You’re good at finding that sort of crap, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but-“ Oswald. He needed to check if Oswald was on the wall.

He wrestled his way out of Jim’s grip and resumed crossing the room, this time at a speed-walk to avoid another accident.

He saw right away that Oswald’s photograph wasn’t on the wall. There were, however, two empty frames.

His heart sunk.

Jim came up to his side and joined him in staring at them. Their names were etched into the plaques.

“We’re not going to die, Ed,” said Jim, and he sounded so professional and calm that it was more frustrating than reassuring. “We’ll find a way out of here.”

“We might not.” His gaze trailed to the frames situated to the left of their own, the most recent additions to the Court of Owl’s collection. He stared at the photograph next to their waiting frames for some time before it slowly, painfully registered that he recognized the tawny hair and bright blue eyes staring back at him.

He’d sent Jake out early that morning, at the crack of dawn. He’d sent him to retrieve supplies from a far off pharmacy so they would have a surplus when the new residents arrived. Noon was generally when Jake called in to let Ed and Oswald know the status of his party, but he hadn’t called in yet.

Edward knew, logically, what had happened to him, but his mind actively rebelled against the thought. He was sure someone was breathing against the shell of his ear, and was that Kristen humming?

He didn’t notice Jim was talking to him until he felt the man shaking him. “Keep it together, Ed. We’re not going to die, alright? We can do this.”

Edward realized he wasn’t breathing. He slowly exhaled. “He’s dead.”

“Who? Oswald?”

“Jake.”

Jim’s hands raised to either side of Edward’s face. “Look, I’m – I’m sorry, I really am, Ed, but you need to get it together. You can’t break down.”

“H-he’s…” What was he going to tell Rowena? And Max, god. She was too young to lose her father.

“I know. I know it’s hard.” Jim leaned in close, their foreheads almost touching. “Ed, look at me. Look me in the eyes.”

He reluctantly obliged Jim’s demand.

“They’re going to try to kill us. You need to be prepared for that. You can’t let this get to you, not right now.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Think about how we can get out of here. There might be a hidden exit, remember?”

“Yes.” Edward raised his hands to Jim's wrists, gently dislodging his hands. Jim let them drop without fuss.

“You look around the fountain, I’ll check behind the paintings for something.”

“O-okay.”

Jim examined him for a long moment. “Do you need, you know… anything else? You know, uh... what you gave me a while back?”

It didn’t take a genius – which was exactly what Edward was, coincidentally – to figure out what he was referring to. He shook his head, though in all honesty, a hug probably would have helped.

“Alright, just…” Jim squeezed one of his shoulders. “If you need anything, I’m only a few feet away. Don’t hesitate. And I mean that, Ed: _don’t hesitate_. We’ll both be screwed if one of us ends up OOA.”

He curled his hands into fists, and then released them, exhaling heavily. Jim was right. “I won’t.”

Jim cast him one last, lingering look before he retreated.

It took a few moments of regulating his breathing, but Edward eventually felt steady enough to approach the fountain and examine it for clues. He was careful not to step into the water as he climbed onto the rim and leapt across to the statue. There was little room for his feet on the stand, but he managed to remain dry by holding onto a wing and hunching down while he examined each nook and cranny, running his free hand over the smooth surface to make sure he didn’t miss a single thing. The simplicity of the task was relaxing. His heartbeat gradually resumed a normal rhythm and his muscles unwound, allowing him to move around the circumference of the statue without shaking like an aspen.

Once he’d finished exploring the bottom half, he called to Jim, “I need help.”

This might not have been the best choice of words, as Jim turned to him in a panic. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just- I need help reaching the top of the statue.”

Jim glanced at the mammoth head of the owl. “Is there any point in getting up there?”

“We have to be sure, Jim.”

Jim reluctantly approaches. “Fine, fine. Get on my shoulders and I’ll lift you up there.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, I was expecting you to offer me a leg up, not get me on your shoulders. I’m not light.”

“You’re not heavy, either,” said Jim, gesturing for Edward to come closer. “Come on, up. I won’t drop you.”

“You’d better not.”

“I just said I wouldn’t.”

Edward wasn’t sure he believed Jim, but he stepped onto the rim of the fountain and slid onto Jim’s back regardless, holding on tight to the collar of Jim’s jacket as Jim heaved himself upright. In all honesty, the ease with which Jim lifted him was a little embarrassing. It was one thing for Oswald to be able to do it, endowed with inhuman strength as he was, but quite another for an average human being like Jim to be able to.

He wrapped his arms around the owl as Jim stepped into the fountain. Into it, not across it; there wasn’t enough room on the statue platform for him to stand.

Edward had to laugh.

“Yes, my misfortune is hilarious,” said Jim dryly. “Now, would you start climbing? My shoulders are starting to hurt.”

“Right, yes. Of course.” He awkwardly pulled his legs up Jim’s chest to tuck them under his thighs, slowly raising himself toward the top of the owl. With great effort, he manage to clamber his way onto the smooth, rounded surface if its head, and proceeded to cling onto it like a man trying to maintain his balance on ice.

Jim stared up at him from the ground. “So… are you going to start feeling around?”

“Give me a minute. I’m – adjusting my grip.” He awkwardly patted the sides of the statue with his fingers.

“If you’re scared, you can come down.”

“I’m not.”

“Ed, you look like a cat stuck in a tree.”

“This statue doesn’t look even remotely like a tree.”

Jim mouth briefly stretched into a smile, then down into a frown. “I’m serious, Ed. If you can’t do it-“

“I’m doing it,” he insisted, and he slid himself in a slow circle just to prove it, digging his fingers into the marble in search of a hidden compartment or button. Something – anything. But there was nothing, just smooth, uniform marble that steadily grew warm beneath his grip.

“There’s nothing,” he said solemnly.

Jim sighed. “You want me to get you down now?”

“No, I – one more thing.” He legs shook while he coiled them into his chest and slowly brought himself to a stand in the very middle of the statue. He instinctively threw his arms out for additional support, holding his breath as he peered down at the ground, looking impossibly small despite the relatively short distance.

He’d never been a fan of heights.

“Ed, what the hell’re you doing?”

With slow, hesitating movements, Edward turned himself until he was facing the wall. “I’m going to climb the wall.”

“What!? You can’t do that,” Jim insisted. “C’mon, you’ll hurt yourself!”

“This might be the way out.”

“Look, you – you don’t have to do that! I’ll throw the badge over.”

Ed glanced down at him. “I’m going to fall if I don’t jump right now.”

“Ed-“

He leapt, arms outstretched. They disappeared into the dark of the ceiling and instead of a barrier, his fingertips cut through air and he felt his elbows scrape against the smooth, unblemished surface of the top of the wall.

Edward beamed in delight.

“I think I’ve found our ticket out of here!”

“And how am I supposed to get up there?”

“Climb the owl, obviously. You’ve strong arms, don’t you? Put them to… oh.”

Two round luminescent eyes glared at him through the dark. They were the lightest blue he’d ever seen. “Oh dear.” Long-fingered hands closed around his upper arms and Edward seized in panic. In one easy sweep of its hands, the creature dislodged Edward’s grip and sent him airborne.

“Shit!” he heard Jim shout, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the chamber as he rushed to meet Edward’s falling body. His back was the first thing to land, hitting Jim hard in the chest and sending them both plummeting into the fountain, pushing them both beneath the water for all of a second before there simply isn’t enough left in the fountain to submerge them. Much of it splashed out over the sides and spread across the floor in great puddles.

Edward coughed and struggled to find leverage with groping hands, trying to shake water out of his hair and eyes. Jim groaned beneath him – had he broken something? An impact at such a speed wouldn’t be an easy thing to shake off.

He rolled over with the intention of checking – and instead gripped Jim by the shoulder, thrusting him to the side and throwing himself on top of him just prior to their assailant landing in the fountain, a pair of finely sharpened knives gripped in either hand. His skin was devoid of colour, a waxy white rather than the traditional peach, but the veins were prominent and dark. A dark, vivid blue.

It struck Edward immediately that this man had to be infected. He was cognizant, just like Oswald, but there was something off about him, like they’d deliberately left more beast in him than human.

“Edward Nygma,” the man growled, raising himself to his full height, and goodness he was a big man, broad-shouldered and thick-set. Neither he nor Jim had any hope of overpowering such a beast. “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

Edward grappled for the edge of the fountain and dragged himself out while Jim – bleeding heavily from a head wound – groggily pushed himself onto his elbows. “Me?” he asked in a tremoring voice, listening to the hiss of parting water as the man followed him, the shadows cast by his blades hovering either side of Edward. “ _Just_ me?” He tried to drag his shotgun off of his back to no avail, his hands trembling too violently to untangle the strap from his shoulder.

“Just you,” the man confirmed. "For now." Sliding one of his swords into his belt, the beast reached down and picked Edward up by the back of his shirt, lifting him off the floor and holding him high above the ground without so much as a tremor in his arm. Edward dripped steadily onto the stone flooring.

In his peripheral vision, he could see the vague blur of Jim stumbling out of the fountain.

His assailant tore the shotgun off of his back and threw him carelessly across the room, into the wall of photographs. He struck it with such force that his vision flashed white, then black, and then gradually faded back into focus.

When he looked up, wide-eyed and trembling, he was greeted by the sight of a camera lens. It clicked and flashed.

“That should do nicely,” the man said, gingerly placing the camera aside. A gunshot rang out while he was still hunched over and the man grunted, stumbling forward and splashing Edward with sticky, dark blood pouring from a wound in his side. Another shot – Edward glanced over the man’s shoulder and at Jim, relieved to see him pushing a fresh magazine into his pistol.

A sharp pain snapped his attention back to the man, and then at the – the – oh god. It took him several long, horrified seconds to register the knife sticking out of his chest.

More bullets struck their target. The man was undeterred. He grasped the handle of the blade and gave it a twist, drawing a shrill scream from Edward and a slew of pleas. He tried to pull the blade out himself, but the man maintained a tight grip even as he bled steadily onto the stone, his unnaturally dark blood vivid against the white. His grinning mouth was all yellow teeth and those bright blue eyes were unblinking, observing him with a sick pleasure.

“Your friend can’t save you from the Court,” he hissed. “If I don't do it, my brethren will cut you open and pull out your entrails in my stead, and they'll-“

What exactly his 'brethren' intended to do with Edward’s entrails went unspoken as one of Jim’s bullet’s finally caught him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground in a heap.

Edward shakily wrapped a hand around the sticky hilt of the knife buried in his chest and sobbed, trying and failing to yank it out. He needed to get it out. The longer it was in there, the more likely it was to cause internal trauma.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, Ed.” Jim dropped to his knees before him. His gun fell from his hand, his fingers curving over Edward’s slick ones, gently prying them off the knife. “Don’t remove it. You’ll bleed to death. We’ve got to- we…”

“Jim.” He hadn’t said Jim’s name with such sincere emotion in some time. “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” said Jim. “Look, we know they’re here now. They’re probably listening and watching.”

“Jim,” he said again, gripping at his shirt with a trembling hand.

“Goddamn it.” Jim kept a tight grip on his hand as he turned away from Edward. “I know you can hear me! We beat your thug! You owe us an audience!”

The silence in the chamber was deathening. Edward could hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

“They’re not here,” he whimpered. “I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not, you’re – fuck!” He started to shout again. “I know you’re listening, Kathryn! You said I could list people to protect, right? Well, I got a new addition!”

“They aren't here,” Edward said, softly and helplessly. “You- you can scale the wall. You can still find Oswald.”

“Ed, you’re _not_ gonna die. You're coming with me.”

“Please, Jim,” he began, but before he could continue, a soft feminine voice spoke from high above them.

“You killed one of our best. We don’t appreciate that.”

“What did you expect us to do, Kathryn?” asked Jim in a snarl. “Lie down and die?”

“That would have been preferable.”

“How is this helping?” asked Edward in a feeble whisper.

Jim closed his eyes, taking a few steadying breaths before looking up again. “We want to make a deal.”

“A deal?” the lady asked. “What could you possibly offer us?”

"Anything you want."

"You don't _have_ anything we want."

“W-we can give you the city,” interrupted Edward, voice soft and cracking. His words came to him without forethought, slow and halting. Perhaps he would regret them later, but right now he was _desperate_. “We can tell the people we’ve transferred power to you. They won’t fight back if we do that. You won’t – won’t have to kill or hurt any of them, and there won’t be any danger of a coup.” He took an unsteady breath. “And by we, I mean me _and_ Oswald.”

“You believe us so weak that we wouldn’t be able to take Gotham by ourselves?” The lady scoffed. “It was our city to begin with! We only need take out the rest of your inner circle. We’ve already have three of you.”

“No!” said Edward quickly, pleadingly. He didn’t want Rowena and Martin to die, not because of him, not in this hellish, endless maze that had been Jake’s final resting place. “No, please – we’re – I’m forfeiting, isn’t that enough?”

Jim didn’t say a word, merely stared curiously down at Edward. Perhaps he was wondering if Edward had a plan.

Truth be told, he didn’t. He was a little bit too preoccupied with the fact there was a _knife in his gut_ to come up with a plan. There would be time for to do that later; right now, he needed to focus on not dying.

“If we agree to this,” the woman began slowly. “You will accept fault for the recent attack. Tell them that it was your own lacking security that caused it.”

“Y-yes,” Edward stammered.

“And you will leave Gotham. _Permanently_.”

“Yes,” he said again, quieter this time.

“Repeat our demands back to me.”

Edward inhaled shakily. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Jim’s eyes as he spoke in a trembling voice. “I will accept fault for the recent attack, and Oswald and I will leave Gotham and never come back.”

A faint murmuring came from high above them. There was more than one person up there. Sounded like dozens, in fact, if not tens of people.

“Will the citizens be safe?” he dared ask. He needed to know.

“We intend to preserve humankind to the best of our ability. We will, no doubt, be able to do that better than you with our innumerable resources,” the woman replied. “That isn’t intended as an insult: that is a fact. We have various methods of clearing the city of the rest of infected and expanding your settlement. Under our guidance, Gotham will once again thrive.” After a moments pause, the lady continued. “There’s no need for you to attempt a coup as you did with Jervis Tetch, and you would fail if you were to try, resulting in further pointless loss of life. Despite what has been displayed here tonight, the Court of Owls has no interest in further decimating the population, even by one more person. Is this understood?”

Edward was too relieved to be affronted. “Understood.”

“Good. The Court of Owl’s lifts your sentence, but should you return to Gotham at any point, it will be reinstated.”

Edward swallowed thickly. "Un- understood.”

“And you, Jim Gordon, having been privy to this conversation, will be required to leave as well. You may bring your friends Harvey Bullock and Leslie Thompkins with you.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Jim spat.

“We’ve reached an agreement, then.” Edward heard faint footsteps. “Knock them out and bring them to the cells. I’m sure Mr. Nygma would like to be reunited with his friend.”

It became clear who these instructions had been delivered to when another hulking beast of a man landed before them, weapon sheathed but hands curled into tight fists. Jim attempted to stumble out of the way, but he didn’t get far before he received a great wallop across the back of the head and flopped forward, unconscious. Edward nervously shimmied himself further up the wall and turned his head away in anticipation of a similarly violent greeting.

The man set a large hand on the top of his head. His fingers slipped into the messy brown curls. “I always like it when they look like this.” The man’s skin was cold, just as cold as Oswald. Edward grimaced as the man twisted the hand in his hair into a fist and pulled his head forward, close enough that Edward could feel their breath on his cheek. “The other man cried too before we killed him. He cried like a little bitch.”

Edward’s jaw tightened. When he spoke, his voice was cold and steady. “I’m sure you will too, when I slit your throat.”

The man grunted, then proceeded to slam his head into the brick until his vision faded to black.

* * *

Edward awoke to the sensation of fingers carding through his hair. He immediately noticed they weren’t the fingers that had slammed him into the wall. They were to thin, too nimble. They stroked him as if he were a cat, sliding his hair away from his forehead and tucking it behind his ears. Oswald had stroked him in this very manner.

Blinking blearily, he turned towards the source of the comfort.

It wasn’t Oswald. Strange smiled down at him.

Edward jerked out of his grip with a gasp, but he didn’t get far, his arms having been secured to the surface of- he looked down. He was lying flat on a gurney, naked save for his boxers. The knife in his chest was gone.

“Calm down, Mr. Nygma. I need you to remain still while I apply sutures to your wound.”

“You aren’t a medical doctor,” he said, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He must have been injected with something.

“I’m the best they’re willing to spare,” murmured Strange. His round glasses glinted in the overhead light. “I do have some history in medicine. Granted, I dropped out after it was suggested I didn’t have a… favourable bedside manner.” He retrieved a suturing needle and wire from his equipment table. “It’s unfortunate you’ve woken up. Doing this while one is awake is very, very unpleasant.”

Edward swallowed. “Then put me back to sleep.”

“No,” said Strange casually. He positioned the needle and thread over Edward’s gaping wound and Edward started to shake, curling his hands into white-knuckles fists and turning his head away.

“You’re a sadist,” he spat, grimacing at the sensation of the needle being threaded into his skin. It made him want to be sick.

“Perhaps that is true,” Strange mused. The slide of the wire elicited a series of whimpers from Edward. He tried biting his bottom lip to stifle them, but it was a useless effort. “But you recently killed one of my most promising subjects, so you will have to forgive me for succumbing to my ire in this instance. Or deal with it, rather.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tight as the needle slid in once again. He couldn’t bring himself to speak until that brief pause between sutures. “Did you do anything to Oswald?”

“Of course we did,” said Strange flippantly. The needle slid in, pulling the wire taut. Edward groaned and whimpered. “We wanted to check how much sensation that ‘cure’ of yours gave him. Turns out, quite a bit more than we anticipated. I haven't been able to achieve such results in my own experiments. It's very curious.”

“Is he going to be okay?” he gasped out, thumping his head against the gurney while Strange worked.

“We didn’t do any permanent damage, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A particularly hard drag brought tears to his eyes. His mouth opened on its own accord, a whimper barrelling out.

“You’re doing so well, Edward.”

“I wish you had died,” he managed to hiss. “I – ggh – I can’t think of anyone more deserving.”

“You really ought to remember your manners.” He winced as the needle was slowly, painstakingly pulled taut. Bile crawled up his throat. If Strange continued like this, he was going to be sick. “You displayed them so well when last we met. I think Mr. Cobblepot is a bad influence on you.”

“Fo-forgive me for taking the claims of my torturer with a pinch of salt.”

“You think _this_ is torture?” Strange laughed. “This is _treatment_. Without it, you would bleed out and die.”

“Well, sorry for not being _grateful_ , but you are – ggh – doing this while I’m conscious, and without a numbing agent.”

“Perhaps if you ask politely, I’ll consider applying that agent for the latter half.”

They weren’t even halfway done yet? Edward bit hard on his bottom lip as the wire scraped along his flesh, hands grappling uselessly at the slippery surface of the gurney. For someone who’d spent his childhood being beaten into submission, he didn’t have a very high pain threshold.

“O-okay, fine. Please give me the numbing agent.”

“Try again, Mr. Nygma.” Long fingers probed at the edge of his wound. “Louder, so Oswald can hear you.”

“O-Oswald can- augh!” The fingers slipped beneath the flesh and he cried out, thrashing and struggling uselessly against the intrusion. They curled within him and sent his synapses afire with agony.

“Go on.”

Against his volition, Edward obliged. “Please! _Please_ stop!” His voice shook and his eyes were wide open, rolling back as Strange dislodge his fingers. The relief was immediate and so intense that Edward almost sobbed in gratitude.

“See, now that was closer to torture.” His fingers danced briefly through Edward’s curly brown hair. He would have turned away had he the presence of mind to do so.

Strange took a small tube of opaque cream from his tool tray and dabbed it onto Edward’s wound. Within minutes, a numbness soothed away the stinging pain.

Edward pressed his face into the side of the gurney; it was pleasantly cool against his feverishly warm cheek. He stared blearily down at the metal while Strange resumed suturing. Save for a pulling sensation, Edward barely felt the needle and wire now.

“Almost done,” murmured Strange. Edward was too busy swallowing down the urge to vomit to respond. Save for the occasional grunt when Strange pulled just a little bit too hard, Edward remained silent until the task was done.

“You received little internal damage,” Strange told him while packing away his equipment. “You needed only a few internal stitches, and those will dissolve with time. I suggest you keep physical activity to a minimum for a month or so.” He gestured to Edward’s damaged thigh. “You wouldn’t another one of _these_ , now would you? They’re an eyesore.”

Edward moved his chin to his clavicle to watch Strange undo his bindings.

“A guard will be here shortly to escort you to Oswald. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

Edward eyed the tray of equipment. He checked to make sure Strange’s attention was elsewhere, then discreetly plucked the scalpel out of the pile and slid it beneath his armpit, hiding it as best he could without nicking his skin.

Strange finished undoing his bindings and circled around the gurney, returning to his tray. He started roll it away – and then paused, thoughtfully gazing down at the contents. Edward felt a fine sweat develop on his brow as he watched Strange sort through his equipment.

“Edward,” he said slowly, and Edward’s heart sunk. “You have something that belongs to me.”

Edward said nothing, to which Strange sighed.

“It will be exceedingly unpleasant for you if I have the _guards_ retrieve the scalpel you took. I suggest you hand it back to me.”

“Fine,” he said roughly, sliding the scalpel out of its hiding spot and extending it to Strange. Strange took it with a smile.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Nygma.” With that, Strange left the room. It wasn’t long after that two burly men entered and heaved him off the table, carrying him across the room and out the door, their large arms coiled under his own. He allowed them to do as they pleased without resistance. There wasn’t much he could have done even if he’d had the strength necessary to protest.

In the adjacent room was a hallway of cells, many of which were unoccupied. The one they guided him to had only one occupant, and their small, curled-up form looked pitiful on the bench provided for rest. Edward realized with a lurching horror that he was looking at Oswald.

“Oswald!” he cried, running to him the moment his limbs were released. Oswald unfurled his arms from over his head to look up at Edward.

“Edward?” he tried to get up from the bench, but he collapsed before he could take more than one step. His knees hit the cement with a painful _thud_. Edward hurried over to him, ignoring the pain in his chest as he knelt at his side and picked him up off the floor.

“What did they do to you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Oswald softly, leaning into Edward’s shoulder. “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” he hissed. “What are those on your wrists? What did they do?” Oswald tried to shake the sleeves of his jacket over his injuries, but Edward deftly tucked them back, unveiling dozens of little pockmarks in his pale skin. A few of them must have been deep enough to require bandaging, because there were patches of gauze scattered over the length of his forearms.

Oswald self-consciously tucked his arms between his legs. “It’s fine. They just – they wanted to see if I still felt pain. They took some skin samples as well, from my leg, but it wasn’t so bad.” His words were belied by the hoarseness of his voice. Edward drew him close and buried his face into Oswald’s thick black hair. “I heard you screaming,” Oswald added, swallowing thickly. “I heard you screaming, and I – I wanted to do something, but…”

“Don’t feel guilty, Oswald. You can barely stand. You couldn’t have done anything.” Edward adjusted his position so his legs were either side of Oswald. The cement was cool against his thighs and he started to shiver from the cold, but he ignored it. Oswald, however, noticed the shivering and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it around Edward’s shoulders in an effort to provide him with some warmth. Due to Edward’s height, it didn’t cover quite as much of him as it did Oswald, but Oswald’s shoulders were broad enough to enable him button it shut.

“What did they do?” asked Oswald, tentatively tracing his fingers beneath Edward’s sutures.

“I was stabbed. Strange sutured my wound, without a numbing agent at first.”

He _felt_ Oswald grimace. “You were stabbed?”

“The other guy is worse off. Jim shot him in the head.”

Oswald chuckled. “Good. Where is Jim, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Edward. “He helped me, so he isn’t allowed to stay here anymore. He might’ve already been kicked out.” He paused. “And we… we…”

“What is it, Ed?”

“We’re required to leave our city as well.” He gave his lips a nervous lick. “I gave it to them in exchange for our lives. I'm sorry, Oswald; I couldn’t think of anything else they might want.”

“Ed, I would have sacrificed every person in that city if it meant saving you.” Oswald slid his arms around Edward’s body, cautious of Edward’s injury, and pulled him into a loose hug. “I believe there’s a saying that ‘home is where the heart is’, and, well… you understand what I’m getting at, I imagine.”

Edward, for his part, was shocked. “You’re okay with losing the city?”

“I’m okay with losing most anything as long as I have you.”

Edward emotions were frayed and vulnerable and Oswald being so _nice_ really wasn’t helping him reclaim control over them. He shakily dislodged himself from Oswald’s grip. “We need to come up with a plan. We can’t let them take our city.”

“We can’t risk it,” said Oswald, shaking his head. “They have more resources than we could ever hope to have, and that means _everything_ in this new world. We can’t drag ourselves to the top like we did before.” He looked imploringly up at Ed. “Don’t make any plans, Ed. Please don’t try anything. I know what they would do to you if we failed, and I’d rather… I’d rather be _dead_ than live a single moment knowing you were suffering through _that_.”

“I don’t understand.” Which was a rare circumstance for Edward. “Did they threaten you? We can’t let them get away with this just because they’re-“

Oswald’s cold hands clasped either side of his face. He was forced to look down at his fiancé. “Ed, listen to me! They know _everything_ about you, _every little thing_! That’s how they knew to have Basil turn into your father; they dug up your files and found out who he was and what’d he’d done to you, and if they found out we were deceiving them, they would do it again!”

Edward swallowed, a tremble developing in his hands. He curled them into fists and shoved them into his lap. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the man who had confronted him might not be his father. He’d been too taken by the moment; he couldn’t have examined it closer even if he’d wanted to.

“But it’s _our_ city,” he said weakly. “We’ve sacrificed too much to simply give it to them.”

“We don’t have a choice,” said Oswald. “Ed, if you love me, you won’t try anything.” Oswald stroked took Edward's hands into his own, stroking his thumbs over Edward's knuckles. "You... you do love me, don't you Ed?"

Oswald was _manipulating_ him; this was a first. Oswald had never tried to emotionally manipulate him before. It made his desperation clearer to Edward than anything else could have.

Ultimately, it was the realization that Oswald was right that persuaded him, not the pleading. He was right about the Court of Owl’s. They were well-informed, better equipped, and they had _creatures_ at their disposal. Fighting them wouldn’t like fighting Jervis; they would lose.

In fact, they _already_ had lost. Jake was dead, their friends were in danger, they were both grievously injured, and they had long since waved the white flag that signaled surrender.

“Alright, Oswald. I won’t.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, gosh, wow. First of all, sorry for taking so long to post the last chapter! I got sidetracked with other things, and I was having a hard time deciding how it should end.
> 
> Anyway, golly, I can't believe I finally finished it! It actually ended up twice the size of what I intended it to be. I originally had it at about 40k and figured I’d build on it in separate stories, but I quickly found that I had a lot more I wanted to write… I’m very happy with how it turned out, even though I know it’s not perfect. I feel like, now that I’ve finished a story of this length, I might be able to write something even longer one day. 
> 
> Again, thank you to every single person who left feedback on this fic, whether it be through kudos or comments. I’ve no delusions that I would have been able to finish this without your encouragement! 
> 
> I hope this ending is satisfying for you all, though I know there are things left unresolved. I feel like that is accurate to life. Maybe I’ll address them one day in a sequel, but until then… happy reading.

They returned Edward’s clothes to him and provided him with painkillers before escorting them out of their cell. They walked quietly, morosely, through various labyrinthine hallways before they reached the ladder he and Jim had used to enter. They climbed up, back into a sun-lit street, and were guided into the back of a black sedan. Two women and three men were already in the vehicle, every single one of them wearing a mask moulded into the face of an Owl. Edward thought they looked ridiculous, to be quite honest, but he didn’t say as much as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

“Do you have a speech prepared?” asked one of the women.

Oswald appeared to recognize them, because he jerked his head up in surprise. “Don’t I know you?”

“That’s irrelevant to this conversation, Mr. Cobblepot,” she replied smoothly. “Answer the question.”

“I shouldn’t have any trouble making one up on the fly,” said Edward.

From behind her mask, the woman seemed to examine him. In the dark of the vehicle he wasn’t able to make out her eyes. “For your sake, I should hope so, Mr. Nygma. If things go south, we will be forced to retaliate.”

“Understood,” he said. Oswald nodded in agreement and twisted in his seat, staring out the window as buildings and infected flew by. His pale skin looked radiant beneath the morning light. Under different circumstances, Edward might have appreciated the sight, but his thoughts were a torrent of anxiety and doubt that left no room for the simple pleasure of observing his boyfriend.

He spent the remainder of the journey trying not to think too hard about having to inform Rowena of Jake’s death just prior to leaving – to _abandoning_ – her and Max. The speech he could do without issue, but he knew Max would cry and Rowena’s composure would flounder and there was nothing he could do or say to alleviate their grief, and this knowledge created in him a tight ball of anxiety that grew in size the closer they came to the settlement. He felt as though it had become lodged in his throat as the vehicle slowed to a stop before the entrance gate.

They left the vehicle in a sombre silence. Only one member of the Court of Owl’s accompanied them, sliding off their mask and throwing it into the back seat before closing the car door. She had greying blonde hair in a stern up-do and dark eyes. There was recognition in Oswald’s gaze when he glanced at her, but he remained silent regardless.

As they advanced on the entrance, Oswald found his hand and intertwined their fingers, holding it tight. His palm had become disgustingly sweaty, but Oswald didn’t seem to mind.

Edward swallowed thickly and looked up at the entrance gate. It was really settling in, now, that they were about to desert the life they’d spent months cultivating for themselves without lifting a single finger in retaliation. Though the slightest hint of retaliation would have ended in their deaths, the shame and grief was almost unbearable. It was like a physical weight upon him, slumping his shoulders and lowering his head.

The gate rose to allow them entrance and they stepped inside. Oswald’s grip tightened around his fingers. The woman didn’t say a single word until they had reached the courthouse and pulled the alarm.

“I’ll be hosting my own speech after yours,” she said, and followed them back out onto the stone steps to watch the people of Gotham gather for the announcement. Oswald turned off the alarm only after a sizable amount had arrived, then waited patiently for the remaining few to take position in the back.

Edward stepped up to speak, but Oswald stopped him with an arm, pressing him back. “I’ll do it.”

“No, Oswald. It was my idea. I should do it.”

“ _I’m_ the mayor,” Oswald reminded him, removing his arm from Edward’s chest. “This’ll be… cathartic for me, Ed, and I know it wouldn’t be for you. Let me do this.”

Edward hesitated. He was sure Oswald was only saying that so he wouldn’t feel guilty about having Oswald take on the responsibility of something _he_ had arranged.

However, before he could protest, Oswald turned to address the crowd.

He resisted the urge to sink back as Oswald began to speak. He wouldn’t let Oswald bear the shame alone.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to listen to this announcement. Unfortunately, I don’t have any good news to deliver today.” Oswald took a steadying breath before he continued. “I’m sure all of you know we recently had a security breach, and it is with… great humility and sadness that I must admit to being the culprit. I did not secure this settlement well enough and that was the result.”

Edward stared straight forward into the distance, scarcely breathing.

“But another settlement got in contact with us recently, as you may already know.” He gestured to Katherine, who greeted the crowd with a meagre smile. “As they have more experience in running a city, they’ve offered to take over for myself and Mr. Nygma.”

The citizens were murmuring among themselves, none of them sounding particularly happy.

“I’m sure, with their help, you will be guided into a brighter future. A brighter on than either me or Edward could have ever offered you.”

He retreated, and the woman stepped up to claim his place.

They didn’t stick around to listen to her speech. It would only serve to upset them further.

They descended the stone steps with their fingers clasped together and their shoulders brushing, heading for their bedroom in the mansion. It wouldn’t take them long to pack their things, few as there were. Once they were done, they could talk to Rowena, say goodbye to Martin and Max, and then leave as per the Court’s request.

They didn’t bank on Martin and Rowena accosting them at the door to the mansion.

“Just what are you two playing at?” demanded Rowena.

“You aren’t really leaving, are you?” asked Martin.

Edward wasn’t a good liar, and Oswald knew this, which was presumably why he took charge of the conversation before Edward could respond.

“That woman and her companions are better suited to the task of running a city,” he explained. “Edward and I… we need some time to ourselves, to travel.” He offered them a reassuring smile. It was taut enough that even Edward could see it was forced. “We’ll be back eventually,” he lied.

They continued into the mansion, Martin and Rowena following at their heels. Edward kept his mouth firmly shut so to not inadvertently escalate the situation.

“You can’t just leave,” said Martin. “I know you two can look after yourself, but you need medicine and therapy – _especially_ you, Ed! You won’t have that out there!” He threw up his hands. “And what about Max? What about Jake? What’re we going to tell them?”

“Jake…” The name slipped out of Edward’s mouth before he could stop himself. Rowena honed in on this immediately.

“What? Where’s Jake?” she asked, and despite her best efforts to remain calm, there was a nervous edge audible in her voice.

Edward slowed to a stop. Out of respect, he made sure he looked at her while he answered. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” she asked, suddenly breathless. He could almost hear her heart hammering away in distress. “What’s happened?”

It took all of Edward’s strength to answer without stammering. “He’s dead.”

“His party was overrun by infected,” Oswald added quickly, diverting his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” She turned on Edward. Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. “Ed, I just – I saw him _yesterday_. They’ve done this almost a hundred times by now. He can’t – he can’t have...” Her voice cracked and she swallowed.

“I’m so sorry, Rowena,” he forced out, the pitch of his voice rising despite his best efforts to remain calm.

“It was just an unfortunate accident,” said Oswald quietly.

Rowena had always been such a strong, stoic woman; he hadn’t expected Rowena to crumple completely, falling to the floor with her face in her hands. Martin followed her down, wrapping his arms tight around her while she wept.

Edward didn’t know what to do or what to say. The only other person he had consoled after a grievous loss was Oswald, and the circumstances under which he had offered his comfort had been significantly different. With such an antagonistic beginning, it had been much easier to say to Oswald what he thought would help him. But Rowena was his friend, a close one, and he was afraid she would break further if he tried to offer words of comfort.

The urge to flee overwhelmed him. He fisted a hand in Oswald’s shirt and dragged him the rest of the way to their destination, running despite the wobble in his legs and the pain in his gut. They needed to get packed and get out – they needed to escape – _he_ needed to escape; he couldn’t stand the thought of listening to Rowena cry more than he already had, and no doubt Max would make him feel even worse with her big blue eyes and chubby red cheeks. Listening to the few people he cared about suffer was a strange sort of agony, like a metal hand clamping around his heart.

He knew running from such confrontations was cowardice, but Edward was at the end of his rope. He’d seen and suffered through too much in too little time. He was dangling from a rocky precipice, and he didn’t want to find out what would happen if he let himself descend into the unknown element that resided below. He was afraid Oswald wouldn’t be able to drag him back out.

He didn’t stop until they were in their bedroom, and then he took two of the cases that had come with the room down from the top of their wardrobe and started neatly piling his clothes inside of them. He did so neatly so there would be room should Oswald run out of space in his own case. Oswald had more outfits than he did.

“Ed?” said Oswald, his voice soft. “Are you alright?”

Edward paused before answering. “No. I don’t… I…” He wiped his face with the back of a hand, clearing his throat. “Is this really what we’re doing? Is this really okay?” he asked him, just to make sure he didn’t have a plan brewing. There was part of him still desperately wishing he did.

Oswald’s answer came only after a lengthy pause. “No,” he said, shaking his head and zipping up his suitcase. “It’s not okay, but this _is_ necessary.” He regarded the case sadly. “It seems like all my relationships end like this. I feel like I must curse people with my presence.”

“Ours isn’t over,” said Edward. “We’re going to be okay.”

Oswald tried for a smile, but it fell within seconds. “Thank you, Ed.”

They returned to the entrance hall with their cases dragging behind them. Rowena had disappeared, probably off to comfort Max, but they found Martin waiting for them by the door.

“Shit, you really are going,” he murmured as he pushed off the doorframe. “You guys are leaving voluntarily, right? You aren’t being forced?”

“Not at all,” said Oswald, with not a single inflection in his voice.

Edward knew he would have a much harder time providing a convincing answer, so he nodded his head.

Martin looked between them. He still hadn’t moved out of their path. “That lady you were with didn’t look too friendly,” he persisted. When he next spoke, he spoke at Edward. “You guys didn’t seem happy to be with her, either. You looked pretty solemn up there.”

Guilt pricked at the surface of Edward’s skin. He willed himself not to answer.

“Come on, I know there’s more to this than you guys wanting a break. I know there is. I know you two.”

“She’s part of the Court of Owl’s,” Edward blurted out, then retracted with a grimace.

Martin’s eyes widened. “You mean those people that left a threatening message on our wall? _Those_ Court of Owls?” When neither he nor Oswald responded, Martin retreated a step in shock. “You’re handing control over to people that like? I mean, I was pretty sure they were the ones who let in the infected to begin with, and now I know that-“ A pause. A sharp inhale. “They forced you to lie about that, didn’t they? You were gonna hand us over to people who tried to fucking _kill_ us?”

Hearing it said out loud, that really did sound awful. “Before I lose all respect for you two,” continued Martin. “What did they threaten you with?”

“The obvious: death,” answered Oswald. “They’ll kill us and our close associates if we don’t oblige their demands to leave. They would kill you all slowly and painfully. They have the resources to achieve that.”

“What resources? We have resources too!” snapped Martin.

“People like me,” said Oswald, his voice steadily losing volume, made faint by guilt. “I believe they created something of their own cure, but there are notable differences. They’re stronger and more durable. We can’t compete with them.”

Edward thought back to the odd, pale-eyed assailant that had accosted him in the maze, how incredibly powerful and unbeatable he had seemed. A bullet to the back of the head had been the only thing capable of bringing him down. What Oswald was saying suggested he was one among many, and the thought made Edward shiver. “He wasn’t scared of dying,” Edward suddenly realized. “I think they’ve been deprived of their capacity to feel.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Oswald. “I _would_ like to know how they achieved that, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to stick around long enough to find out.”

“Okay, yeah. Now I get why you were backed into a corner.” Martin wiped his hands over his face. “God, I can’t believe this. We’re so fucked. Did _they_ kill Jake, too?”

Edward glanced away. It was a telling response.

For a moment, Martin visibly struggled with his composure, clenching and unclenching his fists. Though it looked like he wanted to punch something, possibly even Edward and Oswald, he managed to restrain that violent impulse. “And you were just going to hand us over to the people who fucking killed him? He was my fucking _family_. You might not have fucking noticed, but I don’t have much of that left!”

“What do you propose we do? Let them kill us? _You_?” asked Oswald snappishy. “We didn’t make this decision lightly. If we didn’t think you would be safe with them, we wouldn’t have agreed. They aren’t about to kill their own people.” Without another word, he retrieved their suitcases from the floor and hopped down the steps, hurrying for the gate with his body bent low. His limp was more pronounced than it had been in months.

“I’m sorry, Martin,” Edward said softly, turning to follow Oswald. “Tell Max goodbye for me.”

Martin held him back by an elbow. “You’ll come back eventually, won’t you? You aren’t just going to leave us with these people?”

“We can’t.” He shrugged out of Martin’s grip. “We’ve been exiled. It’s best that we don’t. You’ll be safer if we don’t come back.”

“But this is _your_ city,” Martin implored. “ _Please_ , Ed. Can’t we fight them like you fought Jervis?”

“It’s a completely different situation. We wouldn’t win.”

“You don’t know that!” exclaimed Martin, throwing up his arms in frustration. “You don’t fucking know that!”

“We wouldn’t win,” Edward insisted. “We’d die. I know this isn’t what anyone wants, but it’s what’s best for everyone.”

Martin scoffed. “It’s best for everyone if you hand us over to psycho murderers?”

“And what do you think me and Oswald are, exactly? The picture of mental health?”

Martin blinked tears out of his eyes. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before finally settling with shaking his head and sniffing. Edward started down the steps.

“Take care, Martin.”

Martin swallowed wetly. “I’ll – I’ll fucking miss you, you cowardly piece of shit.”

Edward supposed he deserved that.

* * *

Edward watched Gotham devolve into a series of vague shadows as they drove further and further into the countryside. After a while, the city disappeared entirely, consumed by the seemingly ever-present fog that surrounded the city. He turned away, then, and slid to a crouch in his seat, folding his arms over his bony knees. Loss weighed like lead on his spirit. He didn’t speak.

At some points, when he thought about the future they had been deprived of, of not being able to see Max grow up or have barbeques with Martin, he scarcely even breathed. It took everything he had left not to break down crying. He knew Oswald needed him to show some fortitude right now.

They arrived back at the farm after several long, silent hours of driving. This time, there was no livestock to live on, nor enough supplies to sustain them for more than a few weeks. They would have to leave before long.

He unlocked the gate and the metal chain sent a chill through his fingers. Throwing it aside, he pushed the gate open and stepped inside, heading for the house. Oswald slid an arm around his waist as they stepped into the entrance hall. Cool lips pressed chastely to his shoulder and long, nimble fingers slid between his own, holding his hand. With Oswald embracing him, he felt lighter as they situated themselves in the lounge room they had become so familiar with. There was something soothing about being in a place they had once referred to as their home.

A thick layer of dust coated the furniture and floor. It tickled at his nose as he folded his knees close to his chest.

“Odd being back here, isn’t it?” The room was so quiet, but not unpleasantly so. It was a relaxing sort of quiet, the sort they had been deprived of after settling into the role of Mayor and Chief of Staff of the new Gotham.

“Yeah, it is,” Oswald agreed. His thumb slid over Edward’s pink knuckles. “We won’t be able to stay here long. Any suggestions as to where we should go?”

“Metropolis? Central City?”

“I’ve never been to Central City,” Oswald mused. “I hear it’s a very lively place, very bright. A good place for a wedding.”

Edward’s mouth twitched into a smile. “And for the honeymoon.”

Despite everything they had lost, all the pain and toil that had been rendered null, this didn't feel like the end of their story. It felt like a new beginning, one where they would be able to forge a different ending for themselves, a happier one, and there was no one else Edward would have rather done that with.

 _And their story_  
_And my journey_  
_And the lesson they provide_  
_Draw their strength and inspiration_  
_From a love that never died_


End file.
